Sing out Louise!

I was probably about four years old or so the first time I performed publicly.

My father was hosting a March of Dimes “Ways & Means” committee meeting at our house, and at some point during the evening, he called me downstairs, picked me up, stood me on an end table, and said “Listen to my little girl sing!”

I performed a soul-stirring (at least in my young mind) rendition of “Joy to the World” (Three Dog Night) – or as I liked to call the song, “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog.”

My father beamed at me the entire time I performed – it was the greatest feeling! And then, when I was done, the other five gentlemen in the room clapped! They actually clapped for me!

I’ve been “following the applause” ever since.

What followed were years and years of performances – both at school and in the community, and years and years of dance lessons, music lessons, etc.

And let’s be honest – I was a good singer, but not a GREAT singer. I loved to do it, but always had more “personality” than “talent.”

I majored in theatre in college, and while having many small successes, it became clear early on that I was probably not Broadway-bound.

And here’s where my Dad probably did me the biggest favor – he was honest with me. He would critique my performances, and gently suggest other directions. He showed me how I could translate my love of theatre into other disciplines – like broadcasting, radio, public relations, marketing – my first job out of college was as spokesperson for a local theme park with lot’s of camera time – and minimal singing.

My father thought his baby girl was the most talented kid in the world – but he was always realistic with his expectations.

I think this is why I can’t bring myself to watch American Idol until the final ten contestants or so. Seeing the heartbreak on some of these kids faces as they are told to go home – kids who really, truly thought they were talented – gut wrenching!

And I’m not talking about the bozos who are just looking for the 5 minutes of fame – I’m talking about the kids who have been told all their lives how talented they are – and they are not. Why would a parent (or teacher/mentor) do such a thing?

All these years later, I still love to sing. And I sing every chance I get. Locally, people have paid to hear me sing – I’ve gotten many compliments over the years, ovations and requests. I’d even hazard to say that for a time, I was fairly well-known in Lebanon County for singing and acting in local productions.

And I still love the applause!

But, outside my own active fantasy life, I don’t kid myself that I’ll be on the Great White Way anytime soon. And I continue to be in awe of friends, like Kevin "Big Guns" Biddle, who are truly gifted.

To quote Karen Carpenter: “…don’t worry that it’s not good enough, for anyone else to hear…just sing…sing a song.”

My boy friend is back!

I spent a considerable amount of time, my senior year in high school, explaining to other girls, and some family members, that Peyton was NOT my 'boyfriend,' but my 'boy friend' -- my friend who happened to be a boy.

I don't know why this was such a difficult concept for some folks to grasp.

He was the new kid that year, infinitely cooler than I was, and the object of several junior and senior girls' affection. I was always getting cornered and asked if Peyton was "available" by these girls -- or if he was "taken" (guessing they assumed by ME) or if I knew if "he liked so and so."

And, as tight as Peyton and I were, we really didn't discuss his dating habits. I knew which girl he crushed on most and he surely knew for whom I cried my puppy dog tears -- but that was as far as it went.

We were friends...buddies...pals... we talked constantly -- and had so many more important topics to discuss.

He was so interesting - even back then. Smart, witty, and articulate. Could make me laugh like nobody's business. Ferried me around in his car. Listened to my incessant babbling about whatever had my knickers in a twist on any particular day.

He had opinions on everything -- and loved to share them. Most times we agreed - sometimes we did not -- it didn't matter. Sometimes we enjoyed arguing more than we enjoyed agreement.

I was always amazed that this cool guy was my friend.

But I graduated and went to college and his family ultimately moved back to Virginia...and in the blink of an eye 20 years passed without contact.

But he's BACK!

About halfway through last year, Peyton found me again. And suddenly, this hole I didn't even realize was there, was full again. The friend I hadn't realized I'd missed, was back.

And it was GREAT.

The years between changed us little -- a few more gray hairs for him...a few pounds and wrinkles for me -- but the bond, the connection was stronger than ever.

And now, my fondest wish is coming true -- this very weekend, he, his beautiful wife and uber-cool daughter are moving back to Pennsylvania -- nine short miles from my very home!

I can hardly wait!

Carpe Diem (In Memoriam)

On the first day of my sophomore year in high school, I entered a classroom that would ultimately prove to be life-changing for me.

The class was a three year gifted program called "English Enrichment" and the teacher was a young woman named Nan Willis.

Miss Willis explained to the 20 or so of us in the room that we had been selected for this special three year program via testing and recommendations from other teachers. Instead of attending "standard" English literature classes, from now until graduation, we were "stuck" with her.

I was stunned. I looked around the room at some of the best and brightest my school had to offer and was convinced I had been placed there by mistake -- in fact, after class I even approached Miss Willis to tell her so.

With a smile and a gentle arm around my shoulders, Miss Willis explained that I did, in fact, belong in the class, and that she "could already tell" that I would be one of her favorite students.

Simply put - I loved the class. And I grew to love Miss Willis.

The class was challenging -- we did more than just read great literature, we discussed it, wrote about it, picked it apart and put it back together again. Every opinion mattered. I'm sure this is where I first developed the critical thinking skills that have served me so well.

But it was more than just a class.

Miss Willis saw something in the geeky blonde girl who didn't have a lot of friends, the girl who loved music above almost all else, the girl who never quite felt like she 'belonged.'

She encouraged me to begin writing for the school paper. When I didn't get a part in the school play, she personally invited me to be part of her public relations team. She made phone calls and helped me get my first job at Hersheypark. She talked with me for hours about my college choices and wrote many letters of recommendation -- all of which I still have.

Senior year we sold carnations for St. Valentine's Day -- to raise money for a class trip to NYC. Miss Willis somehow knew, or guessed that I wouldn't be receiving one -- and sent me one herself -- with a personal note that I cherish to this day.

For three years, she was a huge part of my life. So much of the person I am today can be traced back to lessons learned in and out of her classroom.

Every kid should feel so special.

I stayed in broad touch with her over the years -- the odd card or letter -- and shortly after getting married in 1993 ran into her in a Chinese restaurant. I was delighted to see her and introduce her to my new husband. She introduced me to HER new husband as well -- and said "This is Laura -- one of my very favorite students!"

I glowed with pleasure the rest of the day.

Yesterday, I found out that Miss Willis passed away unexpectedly, at the age of 57.

I don't know the details and don't need to know. I just know I felt an overwhelming sense of loss -- for a person who probably touched more lives than I can even imagine. Who probably never made a lot of money or garnered much of we would materialistically consider "success."

On that first day of class, all those years ago, before we started reading The Canterbury Tales, Miss Willis explained to us what an "epic" was -- "a long narrative tale, told in an elevated style, that celebrated the accomplishments of a hero."

Miss Willis was my hero.