The Talent Show

She stood on the stage, mic in hand. So composed. So ready.

As the music began, there was a row of seats occupied by those with very rapid heart beats. Her mother's maybe most of all. Her fan club. Many of us with flowers in hand. And even a few chocolate chip cookies for good measure.

How was she this old this soon? Almost finished with first grade. And ready to leave at least some vestiges of being a small child in the rear view mirror.

It was an evening for kindergartners to fifth graders to strut their stuff. 51 acts in total. Lots of dancers. A few singers. Tumblers, piano players, even a stilt walker. But for me, there was only one person performing.

I never saw this coming. Sure she sang in the house. We were her captive audience. She would race upstairs to her bedroom, change into her outfit that met the moment, make sure our chairs were arranged just so, and then entertain us. Animated and happy. Welcoming our shouts and our applause.

But tonight this was not done within the safety of her home. Not done before an audience of people whose names she knew. Whose love she had secured. Tonight there were hundreds of strangers watching. What could she anticipate? How could she know their response?

She was allotted 90 seconds (like all the others) to wow those assembled. 90 seconds in which some, maybe all, in our row held our collective breath. 90 seconds in which a little girl became a young lady. 90 seconds that were much, much more than just a minute and a half.

As she finished singing, the cheers rang out. The fifth graders in the audience especially loud and appreciative. She walked off the stage, her eyes searching the crowd before locking in on the ones who had brought her this far.

When she reached us, she was markedly different from the person who had arrived in this auditorium a short time earlier. I was certain it was evident to all in this room.

At least if they looked at her through my eyes.