"One...Twenty-one guns...Lay down your arms...Give up the fight..."
I do so love me some Green Day. Combing Ainsley's hair post-bath, I sang along to their performance on last night's Grammy awards.
"Mommy, you're a great singer!" Ainsley said.
I laughed out loud.
"No, not really. I just like it."
"But you're good!" Ains insisted. "You could become a famous singer someday."
"I'm way too old, and not nearly good enough." I'm no Susan Boyle, waiting to be discovered in middle age. Though if I were, I would totally choose "I Dreamed a Dream", too.
"Yes, you could. I want you to be famous. Because then I'll be famous."
"Oh, Ains," I sighed, "I'm not famous and I never will be. I'm just plain old me."
She met my eyes in her mirror, and the look on her face said it all--now life had killed the dream she dreamed.
"I know," she said. "I'm stuck with you."