When I was, oh, 10 or 11, my sister and I were an endless font of creative energy. We created stage shows, for which we printed tickets and offered door prizes. We also did a mean Sonny and Cher impression (I usually ended up being Sonny, for some reason), put on some really groovy organ recitals, and just shared our light with anyone who didn’t get away fast enough. (Tip: Never have “Teddy Bears Picnic” singalongs in listening reach of your choir conductor aunt or you’ll be conscripted faster than you can scream “Mommy! Help me!!!”)
More importantly, we wrote songs. One particularly profound duet went a little something like this:
(Oh what do you want child?)
(Oh, what do I care?)
Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy…
I think that last bit repeated a little longer, but you get the point. What’s funny is my sister and I both very clearly remember both the lyrics and the song.
Such exquisite talent. It’s a wonder we weren’t snapped up for well-deserved stardom and adulation. I tell you, the world is a poorer place for us having given up the dream so soon.