I bought three tickets. One for me, for my daughter and son-in-law. It was the first production of a hip hop musical.
It started a little lackluster. It appeared there was a mic problem. The orchestra overpowered the talent.
I had high hopes for this show.
But when we got to the first soloist, the theater was seized. Seized by such a voice that filled our souls. The mic problem had been fixed. A second soloist whose human capacity surpassed all expectations. The dialogue improved. The rhyme in verse was impeccably rapped. Stories told were moving.
The show ended with a powerful witness. The audience stood and clapped. And listened some more. The producer and star of the show invited us to buy his t-shirts as it would finance taking the show on the road. The after-show foyer was filled with people I recognized but didn't know. Talent oozed in the atmosphere.
Son-in-law bought a t-shirt and I took a photo of my daughter and him with the star of the show. I stood in the background. But after the moment had passed, I wanted to hug the actor/singer too. I told my daughter.
"Let's go back, " she said.
"Oh no, I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No I really don't want to hug him."
"Yes, you do." She physically redirected me. I slid into the singer's arms. I could feel the creativity seep into my bones. It was like getting a monk's blessing except the monk was sharing his talents by embrace. I was satisfied. Thankful to my daughter. For the nudge.
Is this what first daughter's do for their mother's? Things they wouldn't do for themselves? I thought of my older sister and the many times she'd made "something" happen for our mom when she wouldn't do it for herself. She pushed her to move; she pushed her to buy the more expensive car; she pushed her to rent her first beach house for a month.
This wasn't the first time my daughter had been a vocal advocate. Once, when I had to switch airplanes at the last minute to reach my father before his death, she was there, cheering me on. Insisting. Go. Go and buy a ticket for the other flight.
Once, when we had a boat breakdown and I had to swim to and cut the rope pulling the wave runners, at the dangerous moment, it was she who cheered me on.
Why does she come to my rescue at the most unexpected moments? In big things and small. Why is she strong in pushing my best agenda?
Because the first daughter is the first conflict. The first child who breaks your heart. The first child whose heart I broke. She made it clear I was an inexperienced mother. I tried to do my best, but my best came after I mellowed, when I understood that mistakes and misbehavior was not a reflection of me. She is the first child I had to forgive. She was the first child who made it necessary to forgive myself.
Understood only now, after a beautiful night that required a nudge.
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