At 10:30 pm last night I was zipping down the highway with the sunroof open, letting the night air dance through my hair. Banging bass beats of music rumbled around the interior. My rock star partner and I were singing at the top of our lungs the lyrics to Taio Cruz‘s Dynamite.
throw my hands up in the air sometimes
Sayin’ ay-oh, gotta let go
I wanna celebrate and live my life
Sayin’ ay-oh, baby let’s go
I felt free and young. Memories of Friday nights cruising around singing A-ha and Journey in the car with my high school girlfriends flashed in my mind. My car-mate and I couldn’t stop giggling and singing all the way to Chili’s to eat celebratory desserts. We had just spent four hours at a community theater audition for the musical Annie. We were both fueled by leftover adrenaline. Vocals were strong, smiles were big and readings were enthusiastic, overshadowing inexperienced dancing skills and first time jitters. Optimism is good.
Yet this elation was more than that – it was knowing that this was not my dad’s car, but mine. The money in my pocket was not from babysitting. At the end of the evening I would be sleeping next to my sweet husband in our home.
But the best part of the night?
That this was not my girlfriend next to me but my daughter, The Tortoise.