Last days in elementary school

A little girl sat on the cold gym floor. It was hot outside, so she had worn shorts, but the cold floor and a slight sunburn had chilled her.

She was tired; it had been an exhausting holiday weekend. One by one, the talent acts went out on the floor and auditioned. Bad karaoke. Hip hop dances to pop songs. Children dancing to numbers meant for teens and twenty somethings; the edge of inappropriate lyrics - kids having fun. Excellent pianists, bad drummers, a violinist, creative skits, stand-up comedy.

Meanwhile, she's cold, hungry, tired. Her eyes look dull. She has the hint of a head cold, a raspy throat. How's she going to sing?

The end of the school year, her last in a great elementary school; it's hard to say 'goodbye.' Where did the years go? Where was I?

Then it's her turn to get up. A cappella, words memorized, a song with great depth, feeling and emotion, another level removed from the other children, serious, soulful. She nails it. The expression, the artistry. The stage moms all look over at us, "good job!" She got their attention.

The song - about an American Indian's relationship to the earth, to nature. About appreciating animals, mountains, the wind. About respecting people of all color.

My eyes sting. My heart pulls in my chest. From whence did she channel that voice? Will everyone hear her, or are they too distracted, too tired, late in the day? The sad transitions of late May, early June. To feel old and young at the same time. The strikes she rolled at the bowling alley, accidentally by bouncing the heavy ball off the gutter bumpers. She's still rolling strikes, and she's growing up.