The Soloist and the Teller of Truths

Sunday's printo column.

And now for something completely different.

My wife, Katherine, and I sat on folding chairs in the Indian Creek Elementary School gymnasium for nearly an hour Thursday morning, just so we could have a front-row seat to roughly 13 seconds of showbiz magic.

Our five-year-old daughter, Ella, had a solo in the school program. Her very first. When the pivotal “Winnie the Pooh Medley” arrived, it was only a matter of minutes. Soon, she was walking to the mic. She looked so little, leaning into it on her tip toes.

Her composure was remarkable. The risers were full of kids. The gym was full of people. Video cameras pointed from all directions. If it had been me, my quaking boots would have prompted an Indian Creek tsunami warning.

But in a bright, strong, steady voice, she let that crowd know in no uncertain musical terms that when it comes to that rascal Winnie the Pooh, “honey makes him fat.” A triumph.

If only my mom were still around to see it, although I'd like to think she was there, too. She was a singer who gave birth to, in my case, one of the country's most troubling voices. I once auditioned for a high school musical and was asked to sing “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee.” As I “sang,” I'm pretty sure the lights on Broadway dimmed for several seconds.

But Ella is a singer. And she's a sponge. She quickly memorizes any song on the radio. That's real swell and all, until you hear that sweet little voice coming from the back seat, channeling Ke$ha. “Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack ...”

Oh, hey, well, uh, no ... sweetie. Say, I bet you didn't you know, that “Jack” is street slang for apple juice. Heck yeah it is ... heh ... heh ... sigh.

Our oldest, Tess, has a fine voice in her own right. But I'm afraid she may be developing my nerves of pasta.

To her great credit, Tess roots on her little sister. But she's also not afraid to tell hard truths. A future critic, perhaps. We were at a restaurant recently when some folks next to us remarked on Ella's cuteness. “Kids at school are always saying how cute she is,” Tess said. “But I tell them, at home, she's the devil.”

Not long ago, I was telling the girls some fantastic fable. When I sensed disbelief, I said, surely, they could trust one of Iowa's most influential journalists. “No daddy,” Tess said. “You just work at The Gazette.”

So basically, I'm not worried one bit about either of them. They'll be just fine. And I say this on Mother's Day because we all know who is primarily responsible for that. One of Iowa's most influential mothers.