We arrived early on Saturday night to set up the Bingo tent. It was our church’s bazaar and we were responsible to run Bingo. My daughter’s eyes widened when she saw the microphone. “Is that a real microphone?” she asked. “Yes, but only the Bingo caller is allowed to use it,” I explained. “Please can I sing Hey there Delilah?” (A very popular song that is now all over the air-waves) My sister nodded “Go ahead, there are not too many people here yet.” She grasped onto the microphone and quietly began to sing. Her soulful green eyes stayed fixed on me. I looked into them and found perspective. There she was, my seven-year-old rock star singing a tune to me. The words she sang were someone else’s but the story her eyes told were all her own. It was not a story about some girl named Delilah a thousand miles away. This was the tale of a young girl loving what she was doing and hoped her mother was proud. I saw myself in those eyes. I am a part of her as she is me. I want for her what became absent in me. She is right to believe that life is full of possibilities and if singing is what she loves to do then she will find her stage to perform and an audience to cheer her on. Some where at some point, I grew up, as all children do, and my dreams trailed and reality set in. I recognized the realism of the adult world. We tuck away the fantasies and illusions and accept that our chances were missed. It’s through our children we get another chance. Another chance to experience success and marvel in the thought of what life may bring. The trick is to be aware of the balance. Though we are a part of their life, it is their life. They may make the same bad choices we made. Our stomachs twist at the thought of that. It is possible they will make worse. Our stomachs rise to our throats thinking about that. But what if they make better choices? What if they live their dreams? How wonderful would that be to watch the extensions of us become their fantasy. The thought of that is exciting and makes life interesting all over again. My daughter may change her mind a thousand times before she knows what her true passion is. Or she might be rocking on some stage ten years from now. And when they interview her on some trendy talk show and ask her when it was she knew what she wanted to be, maybe she will say “The day I sang to my mother under some Bingo tent.”  Maybe she saw something in my eyes like I saw in hers. Something that lead her to believe she could be exactly who she dreamt of being.

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