“It’s just you and me, sweetheart,” I say as my daughter hops into the front seat, her smile a bit subdued.
“Hey, Mom! Can we hit up Starbucks?”
I return her smile and nod. The grocery shopping can hold off; she’ll be 13 soon, and I feel a growing urgency to cherish our time together. Frappuccinos it is!
As she flips through SiriusXM, searching for Hits 1, she stumbles upon the 80s station. I barely catch the opening beats of a familiar tune before she quickly switches to the next channel.
“Wait! Go back!” I exclaim.
It’s Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’.” I crank the volume, and the infectious post-disco rhythm pulses through the steering wheel. My body instinctively sways as I launch into the first verse with all the enthusiasm of a rock star. When a beloved song comes on, it’s impossible to resist belting it out.
But this wasn’t always my reality.
I lost my voice years ago in the backseat of a mustard yellow 1980 Toyota wagon. At 11, on the brink of teenage awkwardness, I was blissfully unaware of the shyness that loomed ahead. Clad in red terry cloth shorts, I sang along to Eddie Rabbitt’s “Love a Rainy Night,” when my mom suddenly asked me to stop.
As a mother now, I totally understand the need for silence amidst the chaos of kids in the car. But back then, I interpreted her request as a critique of my singing. From then on, I silenced my inner performer, convinced that my voice was unworthy of an audience. My natural shyness, coupled with the whirlwind of puberty, led to a decision that felt logical at the time.
In junior high, I was made to join the chorus due to a shortage of altos, where I discreetly lip-synched at the back. In high school, when the karaoke vibe hit at parties, I resorted to stuffing my mouth with chips or sitting quietly off to the side. College was a blur of drunken karaoke, and even then, I couldn’t bring myself to sing aloud.
You’d think there would be one defining moment when I reclaimed my voice, but it was a series of moments. Some were anticipated, like when my soon-to-be-husband and I spontaneously sang “Killer Queen,” weaving the fabric of our love tighter. Others were unexpected, such as the realization that my voice could soothe my restless firstborn and ease my frayed nerves as a new mom. And then there were the hard-fought moments, like when I finally mustered the courage to perform on stage with an incredible group of mothers from my daughters’ school last year.
Today in the car is yet another moment of rediscovery. My heart races with excitement as I shift into “The Car Dance,” shaking my elbows and bobbing my head while still keeping my eyes on the road. As I start to sing, “Too high to get over,” I glance at Ella. She’s giving me that familiar mix of amusement and embarrassment typical of her teenage antics.
“Come on! I know you know the words!” I cheerfully holler at her. She rolls her eyes but, just when I think I’ll be left singing solo, her smile bursts forth, and she joins me, waving her arms and shimmying her hips. There’s an undeniable spark in her voice that shines brightly, and I hope she never loses it.
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Summary:
The journey of rediscovering my voice was not a singular event but rather a series of moments that shaped my identity. From childhood shyness to belting out tunes with my daughter, I learned the importance of embracing my inner rock star. At the same time, I hope to instill in her the confidence to sing freely and loudly, creating memories we’ll cherish forever.