Just when I thought I was immune to her drama . . .

       On a shoebox stage, wearing a diaper and nightgown, Briana delivered a stirring performance. She ignored me, closed her eyes, and belted unintelligible lyric into the plastic hammer she used as a microphone.

       I snapped a picture, admired my adorable child, dropped a few proud-mommy tears, and sat back to enjoy her new game. Only for Briana, this was not a game. She defined herself that day, unearthed her passion, and made a commitment to expression.

       Soon after her second birthday, she moved to a bigger stage on Pindell Avenue and debuted her first original blues song, “Don’t Touch My Make-up”. She sang from the side porch at Lots of Tots daycare, through a Crayola microphone, to an audience of boys who would forfeit a good amount of their outdoor play time to sit on the ground and clap for her.

       I don’t think Briana’s musical talent earned recognition from anyone over the age of five at the time, but her sense of humor and flare for drama did. To start the day with a laugh, my co-workers asked for a Briana story from the night before settling in to work each morning. Hardly a day passed that a friend or neighbor didn’t say something like that child belongs on stage, or never a dull moment with that one around, or better you than me. I constantly reminded myself that she would keep me young if I didn’t let her kill me.

       Briana was cut from a different cloth and marched to her own drummer. There were no strangers in this child’s life, as she met everyone on an intimate level, extracting from them every drop of energy and emotion they allowed. She carried her microphones – pens, straws, sticks – to sing, interview people, make announcements and introductions, or to tell jokes and stories. Sometimes, I wondered if she was diverse or bi-polar; she brought her audience to doubled-over laughter and then whipped out a sob story that broke their hearts.

       Just when I thought I was immune to her drama, she charged through the door one afternoon shouting a chilling, “I have a dream.” I stood silent while she delivered the rest of the speech without missing a word or inflection. At the end, she threw herself on the couch, with a tired, “Mrs. Patterson must hate me.”

       She sobbed; unable to imagine any other reason her fourth grade teacher had not selected her--a white female--to deliver the speech for the Martin Luther King Day celebration. “No one else knows every word or loves him more than I do.” She argued, expecting me to be as outraged by her teacher’s shortsighted decision as she was.

       She had a point, which she rehearsed all night and made to her teacher the next day. Mrs. Patterson listened, allowed Briana and a boy in the class to divide the speech, and each recited half at the celebration.

       Through the years, Briana took voice, violin, guitar, piano, and dance classes. She advertised nationally for a ballroom dance partner, but had no luck finding anyone who wanted to dance with a nine-year-old girl. Before she was old enough to drive, she had volunteered hundreds of hours on political campaigns, completed law, acting, and modeling programs during the summers, become somewhat regular on local morning shows, was a spokesperson and organizer for a non-profit community program, and had earned money to buy her first car through dance performances.

       Many people criticized me. She does too much. She needs to focus more on school. No one is good at everything; she’s spreading herself too thin. How can you support spending money on these things when you drive a junker and she wears generic clothes and attends public school?

       I did what I do best – overanalyze and rationalize. Would these people have criticized me if I had spent the same time, money, and dedication on Olympic goals? What if her passion had been math or science? Would anyone think I should curb her passion and limit her education then?

       A good pair of dance shoes vs. the latest basketball shoes. An acting course vs. a designer outfit. The benefit of one over the other seemed obvious to me. One would carry her into the future and stay with her forever; she would forget the other in a few months.

       Accepting average grades and understanding why I had to drag her out of bed for school but she had no trouble bouncing up for a five a.m. television appearance were a little more difficult, until I remembered what life is all about. We should all do what we love, as long as what we love is legal and moral.

       Expression and entertainment are admirable aspirations. Who was I, or anyone else, to deny another person the right to explore where hers might take her?

       With my blessing, Briana left the traditional school program to pursue her goals, in her own way. She taught ballroom dance while she completed high school, and attended a semester of college before the rest of her class graduated. At nineteen, she has years of experience in politics, entertainment, teaching, and organizing – her chosen professions.

       Education is important. I hope America will step outside the box and recognize the importance of all types of education, and all professions before we lose the arts.