While writing that post and thinking about what Carolyn said in regards to me not being able to hear her, I started wondering –
“Do all little children think that their parents don’t see them or hear them when they are participating in events such as this?“
I started to think back about my time in orchestra and realized that at the time, I thought the same thing. How could they possibly hear me and my lonely violin over the entire orchestra? It’s practically impossible, right? Unless I’m that one lonely squeaky out of tune note that causes the audience to chuckle a bit. Yet I remember my parents telling me that they could hear me and how well I did. I was certain it was just obligatory and that they were doing their duty as my parental units. But in spite of all that and though I didn’t act like it at the time, I appreciated it and was glad they said it.
Then I started thinking about last nights show and realized pretty much all I can recall hearing is Carolyn. All I remember seeing is her. Maybe it’s because I hear her singing around the house and know her voice. Maybe it’s because I have super human hearing. Or maybe it’s because as parents – we all do. Every parent has the ability to pick out their child’s voice, cries and laughter from a dozen others. That’s how we know to sit and leave you alone while you play at the park and continue our “adult” conversations when you are laughing and squealing and yet come running the instant you injure yourself and that squeal changes tone and you need us.
So to Carolyn I say – I heard you . . . and you sounded lovely and looked so grown up on that stage! Even if you are your father’s daughter and think I didn’t hear you and was just being polite. I heard you. I’ll always hear you. And most importantly – I’ll always want to hear you.