I think most of it is the voice. When she was young she had such a voice.
Maybe some of it is that I have no memory of my mother. But at least a little of it is the … connectedness? I (sort of) graduated public school at the twelfth public school I ever attended, so I fully understand being rejected by schoolkids because … you’re poor, you’re weird, you’re badly dressed, you have a very consistent habit of doing exactly the wrong thing at exactly the right time. I get that.
But I spent a substantial portion of my whole life trying to wrap my mind around this…
My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly.
I know, I know. It’s just schmaltz. But you know, the little girl really was the richest one in the room.
Of course a lot of it is just the voice, which is marvelous.