Something To Chew On

July 16-22, 2018

By Becca Bona

becca@dailydata.com

When you’re caught buckled in on a rollercoaster approaching the top of that first, steep slope, you might find yourself thinking, “Just kidding. Get me off this thing.”

Usually, though, it’s the wild rides that turn out to be worth it.

My Mom, coaster-extraordinaire, must have always been extremely familiar with this strategy – especially when she was trying to get me to come out of my shell.

Some years ago we found ourselves in a pizza establishment enjoying that part of the afternoon that is not-quite evening.

I was probably three Root Beers in when we noticed a man setting up some equipment on the small, almost-unnoticeable, triangular stage.

“They must be getting ready for a band,” said Dad. Mom and I just nodded, and continued to chatter about the proximity of the sea, which was discernable from the nearby windows.

A short thirty minutes later, however, as we listened to an out-of-tune version of “I’m Never Going To Dance Again,” coupled with Dad’s comments – “I really never will dance again, if this guy doesn’t hurry it up” – we realized it was time for karaoke.

“Why don’t you sing a song for us, Bec?”

I looked at my Mom. Petrified doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction in those moments. Sure, I was taking piano and voice lessons. At 14, music was my everything. It was how I communicated with those around me, and how I got through a rough day. But beyond concerts with peers – I rarely sang for anyone anymore.

Two years previous I was happy to take a microphone and perform for anyone who asked, but instead I continued to revert into my shell, exhibiting all the symptoms of a shy teenager. I was all limbs, awkward, and unwilling to take the spotlight.

I felt my face flush, but managed an, “I can’t.”

She wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer.

“C’mon now, you have a beautiful voice. You’ll never see these people again, just give it a try!”

“Mom, I can’t. People will see me.”

“I’m going to show you that you can.”

And with that, she was off before I could say another word. I stayed where I was, frozen in my chair and dreading the immediate future.

When she returned a few minutes later, she smiled at my Dad and I both, and before we could ask, said, “I signed us up for a song.”

At that point, my stomach dropped completely out of my body, and I slumped low in my chair. Everyone in my family knew Mom was tone-deaf, but even still I was more worried about the stage light which would soon be on top of us – singling me out.

Before I could protest, the announcer was calling for the “mom and daughter” duo who were up next to sing Carole King’s “It’s Too Late.”

Mom pulled me up to the stage, placed a microphone in my right hand, and grabbed one for herself as the ever-familiar piano chords started up. I completely missed the first verse, but she charged ahead, tone-deaf and all.

She smiled at me, completely unfazed by her pitch (or lack thereof) and even added a little side-to-side dance-step into her makeshift routine.

As the first chorus came in, I heard a couple of claps from the crowd and even a “Woo!” – which we’ll assume was from Dad.

I boomed in with the words:

“And it’s too late, baby now, it’s too late

Though we really did try to make it

Somethin’ inside has died, and I can’t hide

And I just can’t fake it, oh, no, no … ”

Completely opposite of the lyrics, I felt like something inside had been ignited, and I giggle-sang with my Mom through the entire song.

These days, music is still a huge part of my life, and it’s kind of ironic to think back on my first attempt at karaoke, as I try to do it every chance I can. It’s like I said.

Sometimes you need a little push to get on the coaster, but once you do, the ride will take you to new heights.

Here’s to you, Mums.