“And I, I can’t promise you . . .”

When my youngest was much younger, I accompanied her to voice and piano lessons with my chanteuse friend Carri, whose home studio overlooks a bay that hosts riotously blooming wildflowers and a flurry of musical birds.

My pint-sized daughter would choose her own super-sized songs and deliver them a capella.

Sometimes, after my daughter ran through them, Carri would look at her intently, as if wondering how and why she chose them.

Once my little girl sang Norah Jones’ “Don’t Know Why.”  As usual, she sang with feeling far beyond her years.  We grown-ups were mesmerized.

I waited till I saw the sun
I don’t know why I didn’t come . . . .

When I saw the break of day
I wished that I could fly away
‘Stead of kneeling in the sand
Catching teardrops in my hand

After she had sung the song a few times, my daughter took a break and snapped back into her little girl persona.  She twirled around on a stool, tore open a bag of miniature cookies (to the immense interest of Carri’s ancient dog, Sam, who always insisted on sitting in the studio for my daughter’s lessons).  She tossed a couple of sandwich cookies into her mouth and sipped some water.

Carri tilted her head and looked intently at my daughter. She asked her, “What’s that song about?”

My nine-year-old daughter looked up and said, simply, with complete clarity and understanding, “Regret.” Continue reading ““And I, I can’t promise you . . .””

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