the right song.

I consider myself to be quite arrogant. I'm not proud of it, though a fat self-esteem seems to make my life so much easier than the lives of my friends who constantly struggle with self-doubt. So let's say that I'm aware of it, but not necessarily doing anything about it. I wasn't even aware of it until some people who didn't like me much told me and then the people who did like me wouldn't look me in the eye when I asked them if it was true.

Similar to the way good chickens come from good eggs, arrogant adults come from arrogant children, who are made by other arrogant adults; namely, the child's parents. The way I am is entirely my mother's fault, and I don't think she's one bit sorry, because deep in her heart she thinks if anyone deserves to be a little full of themselves, it's her children. Again, considering the damage some mothers do to the psyches of their offspring, I don't think I did too badly here.

As a child completely and unreservedly full of myself, I thought I could do anything and do it well. I applied this thought particularly to the arts. I could write, I could draw, I could act, I could dance, I could sing, I was a vaudeville act born seventy years too late. Of course, none of all that was really true. I can write a little, and I can draw a little less. I'm a good actress as long as it's a comedic role and no one else is auditioning. I can't dance at all, and I can carry a tune if I know it well enough, but it's not particularly pleasant to hear. Please note that I don't believe any of that, and in my secret heart of hearts, I still am that highly successful vaudevillian. But when I was a kid, I still quite openly believed all of it.

I was going to be a singing sensation (provided it didn't interfere with my acting and writing and drawing careers). I would practice in my room with a tape recorder, making up songs and singing along to Disney songs with considerable emoting. I acted as if I were onstage, reaching out to my adoring fans and expressing the songs' deep feelings through my face and hands. Luckily, this was all before YouTube, or I'd be one of those kids whose older siblings record and then humiliate.

I remember a particular car trip. My mom was driving, my sister was in the front seat, and I was sitting in the middle of the back. I sat there because I could stretch the seatbelt all the way out and have relative freedom while still following Mama's strict seatbelt policy. We were on the interstate on a long drive, and for some unknown reason, I was singing the national anthem. No, I was performing the national anthem with all feeling that my nine-year-old voice could muster. Why was I performing? To show off, I assume. Why did I pick "The Star-Spangled Banner," which is a rather difficult song? I doubt I could have told you at the time. At the end of that very long song, which I'm sure was particularly long for my mother and sister, there was a brief moment of silence.

"Wow," my mother said simply and almost breathlessly.

"What?" I asked innocently and modestly, already preparing myself for the barrage of compliments that was sure to come. I wondered if Mama would try and enter me into national contests or perhaps get me an audition for the Mouseketeers.

"You knew all the words!"

My poor, poor mother, who tried so hard to boost our egos at every turn, could not lie to me. I imagine her suffering through that excruciating song, realizing at about the time that I got to singing about the twilight's last gleaming that she was going to have to come up with something positive to say at the end of it all. She made a valiant effort, but I was crushed. I played it cool, like I didn't care, but I surely didn't sing for them anymore, which is probably what they wanted.

I have recovered from the incident. I love to sing, and I do my best music video-worthy work in the car. But that's when I'm alone. I don't like to sing in public. Even if someone that I trust (and who can't sing very well either) is in the car with me, my volume is turned down. So my mother can take credit for deflating the ego she herself inflated. S'okay, no hard feelings, I feel certain that I need more deflation than the alternative.

Okay, I admit it. I still hold secret fantasies of my illustrious singing career. It's not that I have no talent or that my voice sucks. I just haven't found the right song.