Thursday, March 15, 2007

May we revisit our childhood . . .

I was meant, I think, to be an accountant. But I have one blue eye, and one brown eye. And my hair fights me every morning. So primarily, and secondarily as well, I will never find cpa behind my name. When grandmother searches my papers, she won't see a comma followed by letters of distinguishment. I foundered in shame and confusion. I tried to learn Italian, but I wasn't Italian. I tried picking apples, but always fell from the trees. Then, oh my, oh my, there was for me a revelation.

I was 11, and facing failure at every turn. Fearful of a future wholly ignominious, I sat beside my gran-papa's bed. Waiting for the dawn, and gran-papa to wake. And when he opened his eyes, he took my hand and said, "Let's go buy you a cello. You're going to be a great cellist."

Of course I was relieved that it wasn't to be an accordion.


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