First Day

Very few of my childhood memories are as clear as my first day of kindergarten. I can still feel my five year old heart pounding in my chest, my tiny palms sweating and my quickening breath as I entered the doors of CH Decker Elementary School for the first time.

Needless to say, I was terrified. There were so many strange faces looking at me, wearily judging me the same way I was taking in their differences and similarities. Many of the children had formed bonds and friendships in Pre-School, and clustered together in small groups through out the classroom reviving familiar relationships. I didn’t attend Pre-School so the classroom scene was a brand new experience for me.

It was easier to face the students and teacher with Mom and Dad at my side- as long as they stayed close to me I felt much more assured that I was safe. Thirty minutes into cursory introductions and Ms. Dickinson explaining to the parents her plans for the year, the parents were told they could leave and come back at noon for dismissal.

LEAVE????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????????? I think not. Stricken with panic, I wrapped both arms and both legs completely around Daddy’s right leg before he had the opportunity to get out of his chair. Bending over he whispered, “It’s time for me to go. You’ll be okay. See all of the other children’s parents are leaving.”

I looked around the room and examined the other children’s faces. They all looked calm and comfortable as their parents left the room. None of them showed the same signs of anxiety that I was experiencing; in fact, most of them seemed excited to have a parent free classroom. I did not share their sentiments.

“I want you to stay,” I said to Daddy as I began crying. “I am too scared,” I continued as I buried my head behind his leg. Noticing our scene, Mrs. Dickinson came over to try and persuade me to let Daddy go home. She said that all of the other children were okay, so I should be too. She promised that we were going to have a nice day and Daddy didn’t need to be in the classroom.

I didn’t even look at her. I refused to bring my head from behind Daddy’s leg. As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Dickinson was officially the devil and no matter what she said or did or promised I absolutely was not letting go. And I didn’t. Daddy told Mrs. Dickinson that he didn’t mind staying and it would probably make the adjustment to going to school daily much easier for me. She assented and proceeded with the curriculum for the day.

As we went through names, numbers and the alphabet I kept myself wrapped around Daddy’s leg. I refused to relent and kept a tight grip for the entire day. It was much easier for me to watch everyone from behind Daddy’s leg as I could study the other children without them realizing it. Daddy’s presence was my safety blanket.

I don’t remember what I said to Mommy that evening about my experience at school after she left, but she has since told me I only had positive news to report. I told her the teacher seemed nice and I hoped some of the girls would become my friends.

The next morning Daddy took me to school and walked me to the door fearing he would have to sit through another day of kindergarten. I surprised him, and myself, when we reached the doors and I kissed him goodbye. “I don’t need you to stay today. I can do it all by myself.”

Child Star

I was born to be on stage.

Unfortunately though, I wasn't blessed with the talent. My father’s singing gene did not get passed down to me, which was something I didn’t become painfully aware of until just before puberty.

During childhood I held allusions that I would grow up to be a famous singer. I promised my daddy that the singing business would never leave the Coady family. I would take over Dave Coady’s Irish Express when he retired. Of course the name would have to be changed, but we would handle that when the time came.

I spent weekend afternoons running errands with daddy, which I saw as a perfect opportunity to showcase my singing talents. While in the car, between the post office and the cleaners, I would belt out my favorite Mariah Carey or Celine Dion songs—with my headphones on.

I actually feel sorry for him now. He never once told me I was a terrible singer. He simply encouraged my other talents and told me to explore different options.

But I was relentless. I watched Grease like it was going out of style. While dancing and singing in front of the television dressed up in purple pants, faux leather jacket, and blue cowboy boots all topped with bright red lipstick (all borrowed from my mother’s closet), I believed I was the next Sandra Dee.

It wasn’t until I recorded myself singing that I realized I was awful. It is uncanny how similar I sound to a Tom Cat alley fight. Needless to say I was heartbroken. Devastated. Shattered.

I abandoned my dreams of starring on Broadway. I found other dreams and left my singing career as a thing of the past. I continued dancing and actually found decent success, but honestly, you can’t be a real star unless you can do both singing and dancing.

I still have an affinity for singing- I sing while showering, cleaning, driving, and sometimes working. But it is now done in private as I prefer not to have an audience. And I definitely do not sing loudly while wearing headphones. I no longer have the confidence or reckless abandonment as I did as a child.

But sometimes, while no one is watching or listening, I imagine my bedroom is the stage and the center spotlight is shining directly on me.