Tag: writing

“Let’s Go to the Movies”

“There’s the whole world at your feet. And who gets to see it but the birds, the stars, and the chimney sweeps.” ~ Mary Poppins

It’s a cold winter morning and my heart is pounding as we are endlessly rushing (again) to get out of the house and on our way to school. When we finally settle into the car and pull out of the driveway, my now five and a half year old exclaims, “Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins.” A couple months ago it was, “Put on Annie. Put on Annie.” I slowly find my way to the Mary Poppins soundtrack on Spotify and we start just as we did yesterday, and the 30+ days before that, with Walt Disney’s Mary Poppin’s soundtrack (1964). “Chim chimin-ee, chim chimin-ee, chim chim chur-oo.” And after a few minutes of trying to calm my nerves from the harried start to the day, I start to feel my body soften and a warmth takes over. Mary Poppins is one of my childhood favorite movies and 40+ years later, I can still feel my heart taking flight as the notes bounce off the page (or the car windows, in this case). From Julie Andrew’s lyrical voice in the number, “Just a Spoon full of Sugar” to Mr. Banks serenading us about the simplicity of flying a kite in the finale, my worries on this commute begin to melt away.

After months of my daughter refusing to watch a film because everything just seemed too scary, I decide that I would invoke the iconic films from my childhood. So far, we’ve watched only two (the original Annie and more recently Mary Poppins), but I have high hopes for The Sound of Music, Peter Pan (the Mary Martin 1954 version of course) and if I’m lucky, some Shirley Temple classics. At first it is a very practical decision, as I am tired of showing another princess-themed Disney movie. Not to mention, I now realize they are all unnecessarily scary.

And perhaps more importantly, on a visceral, even sub-conscious level I yearn to pass down something that was given to me…a love for musicals and musical theater.

From my birthday visits to Broadway starting around her age with my grandparents (first show was Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods, 1986) to camping out in my other grandparent’s downtown NY apartment on 37th street watching VHS tape after VHS tape of Shirley Temple movies, my whole childhood feels like it could be narrated by one musical or another.

Whether it’s my daughter quietly bopping to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” in the back seat or the last minute request to change her Rapunzel Halloween costume to that of little orphan Annie, there is an unexpected joy that I’ve been able to connect to through this music. I’m not sure how long this phase will last. Perhaps next week she’ll be insisting we turn off Julie Andrews and instead turn back on K-Pop, but for now I want to seep in it a little longer. It’s hard to describe the feeling of your child genuinely being entranced in something you also thought was magical at her age. She is not wanting for things or gifts in the tangible sense. But this “gift” of shared adoration is now at both of our fingertips to explore.

My family has always been a musical family. I can still hear my Grandma’s notes on the piano as my sister and I run excitedly down the hallway on the 38th floor of my grandparent’s NY apartment. I can hear the records and tape cassettes playing throughout their brightly lit and seemingly magical 2 bedroom apartment (usually with 1940’s or 1950’s classics). I remember their tiny TV, wedged between bookshelves and dusty photo albums airing black and white films, Singing in the Rain (1952), Shirley Temple’s Captain January (1936) or Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1938). I now sing some of these songs to my daughter when we are being silly and she has caught on to a few melodies (notably, “Old Straw Hat” and “On the Good Ship Lollipop).

And what I’ve come to realize is that music is not just something that holds sentimental value, but it also may be a secret (or not so secret) parenting hack.

We have only attended one “Music Together” class probably four years ago now, but one thing that has stayed with me all these years is that by incorporating music into daily life you can create a powerful salve and doorway into your children’s imagination and even self-regulation toolkit. So whether I’m “patiently” reminding her for the umpteenth time to brush her teeth or poking around about her school day, I inadvertently start singing my requests. Something comes over me, and my thoughts morph into made-up nonsense lyrics. The best part is she plays along!

The irony is I have not been gifted with a voice. I of course love to sing (and am not shy about it), but I was never courageous enough to try out for a school play growing up. By the time I realize that theatre is something I want to explore, I am a sophomore in college and up against real talent trying out for theater productions. I ultimately find a place for myself in the theater tech world and dabble in props design, lighting and ultimately stage management. (Hello Upenn’s Quadramic’s spring 2001 performance of Into the Woods!)

Now over 20 years later, I am dancing the line between wanting to dip my toe back in, and secretly live vicariously through my daughter’s vocal and theatrical confidence. At the same time, I must remember this is HER life and her choices and she does not need to make up for my “what could have been moments.”

Alas, I will still be showing her my favorite flicks. And well, no one can stop me from enrolling her in a 1 week theatre camp this summer. You just never know.

Scene from Annie, “Let’s Go to the Movies“
Song by Aileen Quinn ‧ 1982
Original Shirley Temple Dolls, Gift from my Great Grandma Ethel, circa 1987

Some Notable Shirley Temple Hits:

A birthday poem for me

Middletown, CT

“Life has its own hidden forces which you can only discover by living.”

~Soren Kierkegaard

When you are a little kid and get to decide what you want your lucky number to be. Number four (4). A bright and shiny number. Has a small glow of positivity and joy radiating from it. A solid and confident, yet soft “f” sound at the beginning and a rolling, yet satisfying “r” sound at the end. And well, it is my mother’s lucky number too, so it must be a good choice. Yes, this will be my lucky number. The pride I feel when sharing with the world that 4 is MY number. I’m not totally sure what it means to have a lucky number, but I do take satisfaction in knowing that it’s mine and binds me like an invisible string to my mom. There is a sense of safety and warmth just in the declaration.

Fast forward umpteenth years and I’m now turning 44. A world behind me and a world yet ahead of me. I’m somewhere in the middle I suppose. And I can’t help but feel a small, yet satisfying feeling knowing that I’m stepping into a portal cloaked in good luck and small surprises this year.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I can feel the exhale in my chest. I survived a challenging year, professionally, personally and mental health wise. I stepped onto a roller coaster last year that I never signed up for and rode it anyways. In fits and starts, I protested for someone to stop the ride. To let me off, so I could fall asleep on the bench, parked alongside the moving colors and sounds of the carnival, and sleep while the world whisked by. But that did not happen. The roller coaster never did stop. It kept moving, amidst old bands’ music, the crashing sounds of children’s voices and the smell of cotton candy.

The carnival did come to a close eventually. The rides did slow down and I have been able to step off and catch my breath. I still find my chest and belly saturated with pressure at times, but the pace has quieted and I’m less afraid to open my eyes while going downhill or taking those unexpected turns.

—

A birthday wish or two for myself in this new year. To embrace the joys already in front of me. To let go of the genetic wiring of my “if only” mindset that has followed me around for so many years. “If only” I follow the right nutrition labels will I fall back in love with my body. “If only” I sign my daughter up for the “right” activity will she be on track to live her life more authentically. “If only” I take a class in x, y, or z, will I feel more fulfilled spiritually or intellectually, etc., etc., etc.

In this 45th year on earth, may I take more steps backwards to open my eyes to the bigger picture that is my life, and gain perspective. To be able to take in the full lot of what I’ve been given, and explore how I can be of service to others. For without this perspective, I’m at risk of being whisked away on another roller coaster. And goodness knows, at 44, my body will protest!