Once upon a time, long before I’d discovered cleavage or cynicism, or the fickleness of love, I had a song.
I grew up in rural America where nature’s soundtrack came with lyrics. And on summer evenings, the Meadowlark sang,
Heather’s a pretty little girl!
I know this because my mother sang along.
Sharp and shrill, my song could be heard on repeat, chirping from every tree and telephone wire in Meadowlark Estates as it followed us along on our walks at dusk.
Heather’s a pretty little girl!
After dinner one evening, Summer and I sat on the concrete steps in front of my house eating popsicles and listening to our mothers plan the much-anticipated annual backpacking trip. Sticky popsicle juice ran down our wrists, the sun dipped in the sky and I heard my song come on somewhere in the alfalfa field across the street.
Summer grinned as her mother Teri looked up from the lawn and sang,
Summer’s a pretty little girl!
Nearly twenty years later, while watching one of the many musicians I’d become involved with, a girlfriend would lean over to me and whisper, “Which one of these songs is about you?” I would plant a smile on my face, square my shoulders and answer, “None,” as though it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.
But once upon a time, before pride would force me to cry a few quick tears over my disappointment in the bathroom stall of a seedy bar, and before it occurred to me envy Cecilia or Uptown Christie Brinkley, or the object of some silly drummer’s ballad, I threw a rather public fit.
I sent my Popsicle flying to the grass and was in turn sent to my room to ‘adjust my attitude.’ Staring at my Holly Hobbie wallpaper, listening to my song being sung by the meadowlark who couldn’t make up his mind, I eventually decided I could share my song with Summer.
But only because I had to if I wanted out of my room.
I never did fully accept that every pretty little girl had the same song. Though I did concede that being less special was, overall, a bit better than sulking alone in your room, staring at the walls.
I’ve stared at my own Holly Hobbie wallpaper, bedspread and curtains. Damn growing up.
Heather is a fine name, miss fish.
Wow – I don’t think I’ve ever had my own song. Not even from my mother. But my chidren do – I’m glad now that I did it. Even if it was completely unplanned.
I thought your song was the theme to Wonder Woman…or was it I’m a Woman…W O M A N
There are no meadowlarks, or any kind of songbirds where I live now. Thank you for making me remember what a meadowlark sounded like. I loved waking up to their song in the mornings when I was little. The song your mom sang to you fits perfectly.
I would have *killed* to have had anyone in my family say something so adorable about me when I was growing up! Although I totally understand your angst over finding out something you thought your mom “wrote” just for you was actually something others already knew. I get all that, really.
Still…meadowlarks… I miss them. All we have here are quail, buzzards and crows and occasionally wild turkeys. *grins*
Notice that none of them are renowned for singing. *sigh*
What about Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman”? *I am woman, hear me roar…*
Fish,
Have you ever tried to get any of your stuff published? Because it’s very good. It’s a heck of a lot better than most of what I read.
Thanks for the beautiful reminiscence.
I’m glad to say you don’t have to share your song with me- Jennifer doesn’t sound right. Too many syllables…
Ah, the songs written just for “us”. I once had to listen to “my song” AFTER my musician boyfriend and I had decided to break up. I hope he becomes known with it someday. I’d like to hear it again.
I had one of those too! Except it was in Spanish and I don’t know what bird it was. Must research that.
Found your website from a link on someone else’s blog. I enjoy your posts.
Hey, silly drummer ballad boy, let’s get going, guy! Write a tune for our Ms. Fish!
dude, I had holly hobby wallpaper, too
and you’re very special
Interesting thoughts, just wanted to mention I came from blogspot.