Home of the deranged

The story:

I was a precocious child; I spoke in polysyllabic words while some kids my age were still trying to master grammatical sentences. Trouble was, I didn't always know the exact meaning of the words I used, which lead to some rather embarrassing incidents. I was at an Independence Day barbeque with my parents, and some ten-thumbed, tone-deaf, talentless noise polluter with a mistuned guitar suggested we sing patriotic songs. He strummed, and we all warbled along. I, being very confident of my singing abilities, listened to a chorus of the ones I didn't know and then plunged in loudly with everyone else. When I hit the chorus of 'Home on the Range,' everyone cracked up. A burly man with a beard announced, 'Out of the mouths of babes!' Political commentary at an early age, I guess.