Dreams

Yesterday, I treated myself to a pedicure. Sitting in the chair next to me was a charming 12-year-old girl who asked me if I had attended the rodeo that was in town. Turns out that she and her girlfriend had ridden horses in the parade, and her mother was now treating them both to a day of pretty hands and feet.

After chatting a bit, I asked her what career she wanted to pursue when she grew up, and she said, “I want to be a magician. I’m already really good at card tricks, and now I’m working on my patter (the funny things magicians say to distract an audience).

I wanted to ask her if she could make one of my irritating neighbors disappear, but thought better of it, since she hadn’t told me that she wanted to be a mob boss when she grew up. More’s the pity!

When I was her age, I wanted to be a singer of popular songs, so my mother entered me in a contest sponsored by a local radio station. My grandfather, the concert pianist, prepared me for the event by teaching me to sing the operatic aria, “Sempre libera” from La Traviata. Violetta wasn’t willing to give it all up for love, and all I wanted to sing was, “In My Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown.” But, I couldn’t argue with my determined grandfather, because my German was limited, and he played the piano extra loud when I tried to protest.

So, I bombed on the radio at a very early age. I was “Sempre liberating” while other kids were playing songs on their combs and singing songs such as “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me.”

Although I felt totally humiliated, it was all worth it, because I had never seen my strict grandfather smile before. I want to believe it was a smile and not a grimace. That ended my aspirations to become a lounge singer.

I hope that my little magician’s dreams come true, and if she adds a disappearing act to her repertoire, I will be sure to buy my nasty neighbor a front row ticket to the show.

Esther Blumenfeld (Who made me the grown-up?)