Long ago, when I was a young lad in grade 6, my little brother, still in grade 4, was utterly obsessed with Linkin Park. Our cousin, Chaturanga, had introduced him to their powerful music, and my brother was hooked.
One day, he pleaded with our father to buy a Linkin Park CD. In those days, we didn't have the luxury of iPods or MP3 players. Our only source of music was our old computer. Online streaming and downloading were unheard of.
My father, ever the indulgent parent, took my brother to a local CD shop in Malwatta Road, Pettah. As they browsed the shelves, my father asked the shopkeeper, "Do you have Limping Park?"
The shopkeeper, a bit puzzled, replied, "Limping Park? What's that?"
My brother, growing increasingly frustrated, corrected him, "No, no, it's Linkin Park!"
The shopkeeper, still confused, put the CD in a player and started the music. My father, listening intently, shook his head and said, "What is this noise! I don't think this is it, son."
But my brother was adamant. "No, Dad, it's Linkin Park!" he insisted.
It was a hilarious misunderstanding, one that we still laugh about today.
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