Me, my baby, and Baby Beluga

My first days of new motherhood were a magical, stressful haze. In keeping my newborn fed and tending to her every motion and sound, I forgot a number of things: to eat regularly, what day it was, and, most pressingly, the words to most nursery rhymes.

While rocking my daughter to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, I would panic because no standard lullabies were coming to me. Before she arrived, I bought onesies and receiving blankets to wrap her and rock her to sleep in, but I hadn't considered the auditory component of parent-newborn bonding. (Not only that, but "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" was the only lullaby I remembered and, like many lullabies of yore, it's full of ominous lyrics. In my superstitious and sleep-deprived state, I was very against filling my sweet baby's brand new, tiny ears with words like "the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.")

But songs! Babies need songs! As the infant noise maker roared wave sounds from its surprisingly mighty speakers, I closed my eyes and swayed with my baby, and through the whir of the ocean crashing, a gentle voice emerged and urged me to sing along with him.

"Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea, swim so wild and you swim so free, heaven above and the sea below, and a little white whale on the go."

More than three decades after I first heard Raffi, and many years since I listened to his music regularly, I intuitively summoned this and many other of his sing-along ditties that shaped my childhood. His songs are timeless classics that speak directly to kids about their lives and worlds, instead of trying to market to them. By valuing children for who they are — not consumers, but people — Raffi has not only bucked the trend of popular children's entertainers turning themselves into branded mass marketing juggernauts, but he has also proven himself a true friend and ally to children across generations, including the adults they've grown into.

"Baby Beluga" quickly became my daughter's sleep song. We'd sing it to her while we rocked her, while we bounced with her on the exercise ball, and while we walked with her in our arms across the length of our apartment, back and forth. Since we lived in Vancouver at the time — far from Toronto, the place I've always considered home — the song became a bridge to home and what it means. It helped me feel secure and safe where I was, and extend that feeling to my baby.

My baby has grown, as they do, into a fun and energetic toddler, and we've now explored newer songs in the Raffi catalogue (ones that were released after puberty hit, when I decided Nirvana and Hole would be my entire personality). We dance in the kitchen to "Owl Singalong" (2016) and "Bananaphone" (1994) alongside the more classic tunes I grew up with like "Shake My Sillies Out," "Down By the Bay," "The More We Get Together," "Brush Your Teeth," and "Apples and Bananas." All of them are a delight, not only because Raffi has the most calming, happy-making voice, but also because by now my child has been exposed to unavoidable earworms like "Baby Shark" and the overly autotuned "The Gummy Bear Song," from which Raffi is always a most welcome break.

Exploring the songs of my childhood with my daughter opened up an entire genre of music I knew by heart without having to Google the lyrics to. Along with Raffi, we had Fred Penner and Sharon, Lois, and Bram. This holy trifecta of Canadian children's performers existed during a unique time that we haven't seen since. When I watch clips of their concerts from the '80s, I become one of those excited, dancing little girls in the audience wearing knee-high socks and a dress with a frilly decorative bib attached to it. 

The 1980s were the golden age of children's folk entertainment: these performers seemed to cherish children and music enough to never make a mockery out of either. They played with full bands, were talented musicians themselves, and fundamentally understood that they had the power to positively influence the development of young children. They entertained us sincerely and jubilantly, but they connected with us because there was genuine respect there. 

Besides my daughter, there's no one I want to be a good human for more than Raffi.- Carla Ciccone

I've been listening to Chris Garcia's podcast Finding Raffi, featuring interviews with the troubadour himself, and it's of little surprise that Raffi's guiding ethos is centred around a deep respect for children and the environment. He never sold out, commercialised himself, or pandered to his audience because of it, and he never will. He believes in "child honouring," and has held firm to the idea that children shouldn't be marketed to. Throughout his career, he's said no to major brand partnerships and even an opportunity to turn "Baby Beluga" into a huge animated feature, because it would've come with marketing that he doesn't want anything to do with.

The world of children's music, TV, and films is currently a slew of merchandising opportunities masquerading as entertainment. Most people who produce children's entertainment would jump at the chance to hitch their creations to the "plastic toy that comes with a fast food kids meal" offerings that kids have been conditioned to consume. (Anyone who's seen the addictive disasters that are children's YouTube channels — entire operations dedicated to a pair of adult hands opening a myriad of new plastic toys to "play with" while dictating exactly what the toys are in a blatant effort to turn toddlers into customers — knows what I'm talking about.)

Raffi's values-based sincerity in the face of this is rare and special, and makes him one of a small handful of prominent Canadians who remains dedicated to living the values our country is supposed to stand for but usually falls short of. 

It's been soul-enriching to return to these musical staples from my childhood, and I haven't done so in an attempt to hoist my own nostalgia onto my now-toddler, but because they remain the songs for children that are actually enjoyable for adults. Raffi is still incredibly entertaining and he reminds me, the way the best teachers do, that despite what the people in power might have us believe, adults don't actually have to age out of valuing kindness, respect, and caring for others and our planet. Besides my daughter, there's no one I want to be a good human for more than Raffi.

He calls the adults who listened to him as children "Beluga Grads." What that means is that through his music, he gave us the tools to be good people, and he was there for us as we navigated the change-filled world of young childhood. As I sang, "You're just a little white whale on the go," over and over until my tired baby finally fell asleep, I put her down and thanked Raffi, knowing that he'll be there for her as she grows, too.