“It’s just you and me, sweetheart,” I say, as my daughter slips into the passenger seat, her smile faint.
“Hey, Mom. Can we swing by Starbucks?”
I return her smile, feeling a tug of urgency about our time together. She’s on the brink of turning 13, and grocery shopping can wait. Frappuccinos it is!
As she scrolls through SiriusXM, aiming for Hits 1, she stumbles upon 80s on 8. Just as the familiar drum machine kicks in, she clicks to another station.
“Wait! Go back!” I exclaim.
It’s Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’.” I crank the volume up, the lively beat pulsating through the steering wheel. My body instinctively starts moving, and I can’t help but belt out the lyrics like a true rock star.
But it wasn’t always this way.
I lost my voice in the backseat of a mustard yellow 1980 Toyota wagon when I was 11. On the cusp of teenage awkwardness, I was blissfully unaware of the shyness that lay ahead. I remember bouncing in the back seat, singing along to Eddie Rabbitt’s “Love a Rainy Night,” when my mom asked, “Can you please stop singing?”
Now, as a mother driving a noisy crew of kids, I get it—the need for silence to avoid accidents or missed turns. But back then, I interpreted her request as criticism of my voice. I vowed to keep my singing to myself, and my natural shyness combined with the hormonal rollercoaster of puberty made that decision feel justified.
In junior high, I was drafted into the chorus because they needed altos. I stood in the back, lip-syncing. At high school parties, when “Roxanne” came on, I would either stuff my mouth with chips or sit quietly away from the crowd. College brought a bit more confidence—if I was tipsy, I might join in, but even then, I didn’t dare to sing out loud. Even during pregnancy, when all the books waxed poetic about singing to your baby in the womb, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I wish I could say there was a single moment that sparked my transformation back to singing, but it was a series of moments. Like when my fiancé and I harmonized on “Killer Queen,” weaving our love closer. Unexpectedly, I discovered how my voice could soothe my fussy firstborn and my frazzled new-mom nerves. Then there were the moments of bravery, such as when I performed on stage with a talented group of moms from my daughters’ school last year.
And now, here we are in the car, another defining moment. My heart races as I groove behind the wheel, doing what my friends and I call The Car Dance. I’m about to dive into the chorus, “Too high to get over,” when I steal a glance at Ella. She’s rolling her eyes, but I can see the spark of amusement beneath it.
“C’mon! I know you know the words!” I sing-shout at her.
Just when I think she might leave me hanging, her face lights up, and she joins in with me, her arms waving and hair flying—there’s a joy in her voice that’s impossible to hide. I hope she never silences that beautiful sound.
This journey of rediscovering my voice has been filled with ups and downs, but every moment has brought me closer to the rock star I never knew I could be.
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Summary
This story reflects on the author’s journey of losing her voice during childhood due to a moment of discouragement and the gradual rediscovery of her passion for singing as an adult. The narrative emphasizes the importance of embracing one’s voice and the joy it can bring, especially in the context of family.
Keyphrase: Rediscovering my voice
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