Meredith’s Musings | Lavender Haze

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

The latent fear of my child experiencing hurt and disappointment is surfacing more now that my daughter is entering pre-adolescence. She’s a joiner – running for Student Council, registering for 5Ks, initiating friend activities. She makes community everywhere she goes, and I love that for her social prospects moving forward. So, when she mentioned wanting to audition for the school talent show, I assumed she would dedicate herself to this event like she did for others. As she has danced for the last four years, I was surprised when she mentioned wanting to play her guitar (for which she hasn’t had the first lesson). She strums from time to time, but the novelty soon wears off when Little Sister asks her to “keep it down.” For the week prior to auditions, I saw her pick up the guitar only a few times. I suggested we learn a song from YouTube, to which she scoffed, insisting “Mom, I’m not going to play someone else’s song. I’ll make up my own.” Throughout the stomach clenching of that week, I kept reminding myself that this would be a good learning experience for her, building character. I heard her play the guitar – no way they would put her on that stage. The night before, I suggested she practice. With a flip of the hand, she insisted, “I’ve got this, Mom.”

That evening, I had a flashback of my own talent show audition in 6th grade. I was determined to sing (no doubt Mom advised me against it). You couldn’t tell me anything back then – see where my daughter gets it. Wardrobe was paramount. I showed up to the afternoon auditions in a lavender sweater, purple suede skirt, church pantyhose, ballet flats, hair in a side pony with an oversized, plum-colored scrunchie (90s nailed it). I knew I looked so good that my singing was merely a preface for getting me on the stage. I would make this show. I sung my heart out, gesticulating at all the dramatic notes just as I’d seen Whitney do in the video. One of the judges approached me before announcing who would perform the following week with a proposal. She said she knew I wanted to sing, but they really needed an emcee for the show. And I had just the personality they were looking for. Bless that woman for sparing me the embarrassment of not making the show and instead framing the ask as if only I could host. “You mean I’d be onstage for the ENTIRE show?” I was in. Whitney would have to wait.

I had the time of my life hosting that show. I had a behind-the-curtain view of each performance, the anxiety before and exhilaration after. I remember the 3 guys who had the crowd on their feet with Hip Hop Hooray by Naughty by Nature. Everyone swung their hands overhead in unison while the scratchy tape bellowed “Hip hop hooray…Ho…Hey.” The judges scrunched their noses but couldn’t avoid awarding the boys 3rd place. One uber-shy boy played the piano, not exactly a crowd-pleasing tune, but no one could deny his talent. He edged the hip hop boys for second place – adults were still in charge.

The afternoon after my daughter’s audition, I slowly creeped forward in the pickup line, searching for the look of glee or disappointment on my child’s face. The scowl was obvious. She couldn’t climb in the car fast enough as Little Sister announced, “Wildey didn’t make it.” Wilder doubled down with, “I’m not talented.” I scrunched my own face, unsure how to respond. She talked her way through it the whole way home. She shifted from bafflement to sadness to “Who cares about a talent show anyway?” As she walked in our door, she pulled the decision letter from her notebook, stood firmly over the trash, and ripped it into pieces. Little Sister and I gave the crestfallen her space. By the next morning, all seemed to be forgotten, and within a week she picked up her purple guitar again. I resisted a lesson on prepping for auditions and earning a place in the show. I know my kid – she got it. And come next year, she’ll find her way to the spotlight.