Roses are red
Violets are blue
The book has been read
Little Clown, goodnight to you
The Bastion Poet

Are we the audience, or is he?

Way back in the day, I remember putting on half-baked skits for my Mom. Sometimes I could persuade Dit to join me, although a couple of times I attempted a skit by myself.

Although I really wanted to put on a little show, I would usually end up giggling nervously and the whole plan would dissolve. If I had a "partner in crime" though, I was a bit more brave.

I don't remember very many of our 'performances,' except for one where we used a plastic 'frame' that had fallen off a TV. I was going to be a newscaster, a la Saturday Night Live. It didn't go on very long before I began feeling stupid and just quit.

If memory serves me right, I would usually get nervous and feel very "on the spot" about performances. Over the years, I played the violin (not very well), sang in a junior high choir (because they accepted anybody), and danced in recitals (I didn't once fall down on stage).

Nearly a year ago, Punkin received one of those kid-sized and kid-proofed tape recorders with the microphone. It was purchased at a garage sale and, as we found out later, was broken. That didn't seem to matter to Punkin. In the car on the way to school, she would talk into the microphone part, pretending she was interviewing someone on a talk show.

She liked that tape recorder so much we bought her one that worked. She was thrilled! Within a month or two, though, we realized that the tape wheely mechanism thingy kept moving all the time. It did this even when the tape was at the end, or when there was no tape in the machine at all.

She has since gone back to using the original broken tape recorder, which has been hauled all over the house by now.

The other day it was just the two of us at home, taking it easy...

A memory flashed in my head and I dutifully let her lead me to a spot on the carpet. Once I was seated, she picked up the microphone part of the broken recorder, and stepped up onto her blue stool. The closet doors were in back of her like a stage curtain.

With one hand holding the microphone and the other hand out to the side, she began singing a made up tune called "The Big Girl Song." The first line or two she looked at me, then turned her head towards the closet door behind her to hide her face. I didn't say anything and just waited. After another line or two, she turned back around and finished her song.

I clapped and she smiled a great big smile. Punkin then, still speaking into the microphone that doesn't work, told me that I could then go back to what I was doing before the concert started.

We exchanged hugs and kisses as I thanked her for letting me be an audience of one for her singing debut. A debut it is, too. I have a feeling this is just the first in a long line of Punkin performances.

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one year ago