My Run as a Mermaid

When I became a parent, I expected stinky diapers, tantrums, even - thanks to my sisters - a painful learning curve on breastfeeding. I didn't expect parenthood to give me my break as a Broadway star.

Most new parents share the experience of pushing air through rusty vocal chords, resurrecting the classics to ease a crying infant to sleep - "Twinkle Twinkle," "ABC," "Ba-Ba-Black-Sheep," eventually moving on to other tunes such as "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" or "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round." When those don't work, we rack our brains, dragging up Middle School choir tunes ("On Top of Old Smokey," anyone?) or "Jingle Bells" (the kid doesn't care that it's August - or that he's Jewish). Our oldest child, Duncan, was satisfied with whatever tunes we came up with, however in or out of tune they were, as long as we kept singing. We pulled out some Elvis ("Take my heart, take my whole life too") and Elton John ("How wonderful life is now you're in the world"), which seemed to capture our new reality as parents.

His younger brother, however, had more specific requirements.

It began one rainy weekend like any other when we rented a DVD from the movie store. Duncan had heard about a movie called "The Little Mermaid" from one of his friends at school. Duncan, who was 3 at the time, watched with rapt attention. We expected Reeve, who was 1, to watch for his usual span of five minutes, then wander off to unload the pots and pans from the cupboard or bang on his mini-piano. Not so. Reeve was transfixed.

Needless to say, we had to watch the movie as many times as possible before the midnight deadline at the movie store. Then, to put off the endless demands to rent it again, I had the great idea to buy the soundtrack. That way, I justified to myself, at least their little Disney-colonized imaginations would be exercised in conjuring the magical underwater world through the evocation of music. Of the ten hours driving from New York back and forth on our many trips to New Hampshire, at least five were spent looping mermaid Ariel's aria of longing, "Part of Your World". Desperate efforts by the parents to move on to another song -- or another CD? -- were met with roof-raising protests.

The season of The Little Mermaid corresponded with a major effort to get Reeve to sleep at night in his crib. He fought falling sleep like a tarpin fights the fishing line. His non-negotiable requirement before surrender: That I sing "Part of Your World," in its entirety.

At first I performed the task out of duty and desperation.

"Look at this stuff,
Isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl,
girl who has everything?

Look at this trove,
Treasures untold,
How many wonders can one cavern hold?
Looking around here you think, sure,
She's got everything?

I've got gadgets and gizmos a plenty,
I've got who-sits and whats-its galore,
You want thing-a-ma-bobs,
I got twenty,
But who cares? No big deal?
I want more......"

But soon I found something curious going on. As I watched Reeve's little eyes, wide open and fixed on the ceiling, I felt his longing for more. Could he already have figured out that the world is filled with useless gizmos and gadgets that distract us from what we really long for? What do I long for that I've lost track of?

"I want to be where the people are,
I want to see, want to see 'em dancing,
Strolling along on those, what's that word again?
Oh, feet...
Flipping your fins you don't get too far,
Legs are required for jumping, dancing,
Walking along on those, what's that word again?
Streets!"

Did I hear my little audience member sigh? My little wobbly walker just figuring out how to walk, jump, dance? My pre-verbal toddler longing for the power of words? The sincerity of his longing to be a part of this big human world, against his instinctual awareness of his limits, cracked my heart open.

"Up where they walk, up where they run,
Up where they stay all day in the sun,
Wandering free, wish I could be,
Part of that World!"

Childhood memories flooded me. Longing to be included in my older sister's Barbie games with her friends; longing to be one of the "big kids" allowed to go out to dinner at the Sail Loft with the cousins; longing to escape the chubby body that attracted Paul Appleton's taunts of "Miss Piggy" at the bus stop; longing to defy gravity by completing an axel jump on figure skates...

I was no longer a mother crouched on the carpet of her son's nursery. I was a mermaid, perched on a rock, singing from the depths of my soul.

"What would I give if I could live outta these waters?
What would it take to spend a day warm on the sand?
Betcha on land they understand that they don't reprimand their daughters!
Bright young women, sick of swimming,
Ready to Stand!"

Were those tears in my eyes as my mermaid self recalled all the dreams of my bright young woman self? To participate in the world? To lead a life that matters? To make art and tell stories that move people the way I was being moved by this song? My voice quivered now with emotion as the full import of the song penetrated and I wondered, did I ever Stand?

"I'm ready to know what the people know,
Asking my questions and get some answers,
What's a fire and why does it, what's the word, Burn?"

I was burning now. How many questions had I abandoned? Lost in the category of, "I don't have time" or "I'm too tired"? My voice soared with heart-felt emotion. A single spotlight held me in the darkness. My audience was spellbound by the power of the music, by the truth of my performance. Each note mattered. It must be exactly right. I was the voice of the universal desire that lives in each of our hearts, and which we must not let die!

"When's it my turn, wouldn't I love,
Love to explore the shore up above?"

Wait for it now. I took my time. I gave each word its deserved moment.

"Out of the sea, wish I could be,
Part of that world..."

The spotlight dimmed. I had so transported my audience they couldn't even muster applause.

I opened my eyes. My little audience looked at me through the bars of his crib, quiet, intent, and uttered a single word, "Again."

And so began my Broadway career. Digging into the depths of my soul, three performances a night, for months. Until one night, he didn't want it any more. And I realized, with a little sadness, that the show had closed.