Singing was a form of escapism for me, and writing was a form of processing. There wasjoy in it, but it mainly was survival (and it still is). My voice was recognized as pure talentnot only by my mother but also by my teachers. A friend of my mother’s was my musicteacher, and she was exceptional. As a child I was in a few school plays, and I would singfor friends at random1 events. Singing onstage (or anywhere), imagining I was someoneelse, was when I felt most like myself. Walking around alone and coming up withmelodies while singing to myself was when I felt the most whole. To this day, I escape tomy private vocal2 booth to shut out all the demands of life and feel myself in my space,singing alone.
I was in the fifth grade when I first got the opportunity to attend an exclusiveperforming arts summer camp. This was a breakthrough! I could finally be around otheryoung aspiring3 artists and hone my craft, undistracted by the confusion and chaos4 at home.
I landed the role of Hodel, one of the five daughters in the camp’s production of Fiddleron the Roof. I lived to go to rehearsals5. It was my favorite time and place. I was confident,quickly learning the songs and studying their meanings. The act of practicing camenaturally to me; I liked to do things over and over again. I loved the experience ofwitnessing my performance getting better with each try, finding new and better ways todeliver a song.
The drive to practice music was also something my mother recognized and encouragedin me early on. She rehearsed the Fiddler songs with me at home, playing along on herYamaha piano. Even as a little girl I was interested in exploring the details that made up agreat song. And I was fascinated by the storytelling in the musical. I even managed tomake a “camp friend” in the community of largely Jewish and mostly wealthy kids. Webonded through our love and seriousness of singing. We even kinda looked alike. She wasIsraeli with thick curly, almost kinky hair. So we both had tangled6 textures7. We tried todress alike when we could, we had the same pink onesie. Because people saw us together,saw some physical similarities, I think they thought I was a blondish Jewish girl frommeans.
I loved Hodel because she fell in love with a revolutionary boy and went to the ends ofthe earth to follow her passion. My big number was in the second act, a song called “Farfrom the Home I Love.” It was a well-suited song for my breathy tone, and I remember Isang it in a purely8 emotional way. The song opened with these lovely, memorable9 lines:
How can I hope to make you understand
Why I do what I do?
Why I must travel to a distant land
Far from the home I love.
My father was coming up to the camp for the show’s opening night, and I was thrilled.
He was a practical man who wasn’t thrilled with my artistic10 passion, but he hadreluctantly paid half of my hefty tuition for camp that year. So while he was certainlycoming to support me, he was also checking in on his investment. I didn’t have theprivilege of trying all different kinds of hobbies, like the kids I went to school with—itwas this camp, or bust11. So I knew I had to get all I could from it. There was no flittingfrom tennis lessons to guitar to dance class. Not that I would ever step foot in a danceclass, even if we could afford it. I was traumatized early on about dancing.
One time when Addie was at my father’s house, she looked at me, with my unrulyflaxen hair and peach-crayon-colored skin, and said, “Roy, that ain’t your baby.” Then, asif to prove her point, she addressed me: “Girl, lemme see you dance.” While I wassurrounded by music, there wasn’t much dancing in my childhood. My mother didn’tdance; I never saw my siblings12 dance. My father didn’t dance until later in the eighties,when he took hustle13 lessons.
In my mind, dancing became a measurement for Black acceptance, for belongingsomewhere and to someone—for belonging to my father. I didn’t dance for Addie thatday. I didn’t dance much at all after that. I just couldn’t recover from the fear of notdancing “right” for my father. I stood there terrified to move, fearing if I didn’t dance wellenough or if I moved the wrong way, it would somehow prove that my father wasn’t myfather.
That day at camp, as Hodel, I sang and smiled and pranced14 about the stage and sangsome more. I sang in a very distinct lullaby style. I was good, and everybody knew it. Icould hear the loud clapping as I took my bow; it was like another kind of grand music,giving me energy, giving me hope. As I raised my head I saw the widest smile on myfather’s face. His smile was like sunshine itself. He walked up to the edge of the stage, hisarms filled with a big bouquet15 of sunny daisies tied with a lavender ribbon. Beaming withpride, he handed me the flowers as if they were a prestigious16 award. At first we were bothtoo giddy to notice that people were staring at us—and not in a way that felt good, notbecause I had given the outstanding performance of the night. They were staring becausemy father was the only Black man in sight, and I belonged to him. That night, the teachers,the parents, and all the other campers learned that my father was a Black man, and I paidthe price for it. I got my thunderous applause and I got my flowers, but I never got anothermajor role in a play at that camp again.
Please be at peace father
I’m at peace with you
Bitterness isn’t worth clinging to
After all the anguish we’ve all been through—“Sunflowers for Alfred Roy”

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1
random
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adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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2
vocal
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adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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3
aspiring
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adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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4
chaos
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n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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5
rehearsals
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n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 );排练;复述;重复 | |
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6
tangled
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adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7
textures
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n.手感( texture的名词复数 );质感;口感;(音乐或文学的)谐和统一感 | |
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8
purely
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adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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9
memorable
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adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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10
artistic
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adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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11
bust
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vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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12
siblings
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n.兄弟,姐妹( sibling的名词复数 ) | |
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hustle
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v.推搡;竭力兜售或获取;催促;n.奔忙(碌) | |
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14
pranced
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v.(马)腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bouquet
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n.花束,酒香 | |
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prestigious
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adj.有威望的,有声望的,受尊敬的 | |
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