Her songs joyful yet jazzy compelled the listener. My little jellybean had grown into a successful songstress, an artist with masses following her every move.
I sat in the wings, tears filled my eyes as I looked on with complete joy. My daughter, my little girl, on stage singing with passion, beautify, a mix of frivolity, but always with the voice of an angel that reached inside to places you didn’t know existed to moments in time special and dear, her words evocative and pure.
When had she grown so wise, so mature, so impassioned, so sure of herself? She’d once said it was a fickle industry and people themselves often fickle, changed who they followed, often influenced by friends, peers and radio announcers.
Still she’d persisted, continued until she was the one people listened to, the one spoken off, the name on the tip of everyone’s lips.
Turning, she dropped her tone, intimate with great depth and reached out an arm across the stage toward me. I felt lighter than air. Her poetic words tugged at my heart. They were all about love, being loved, cared for. Looking closely, I witnessed a single tear.