The Next Shirley Temple

When I was little, my grandmother used to wrap my hair in rags over night to produce very distinct, perfect, Shirley Temple curls. My family never misses an opportunity to remind me that I knew all of the words to Animal Crackers by the time I was 3. While other toddlers watched Sesame Street, I watched Heidi and A Little Princess over and over and over. I was going to be the next Shirley Temple.

I never took dance lessons, or voice lessons, but I got a microphone for Christmas one year, and that was enough. I remember standing in the middle of the kitchen, singing I’m a Little Teapot, Do re mi, and Over the Rainbow to the throngs of fans I imagined in the cupboards. The microphone itself stood about three feet, and the base held three, foot pedal-buttons. The first button turned the toy off and on, another button created an echo, and the third – my personal favorite – sent the sounds of cheering and applause across the kitchen on my command. In my peanut-sized brain, the adoring audiences of that third button waited with bated breath for my next song.

I don’t remember when my toy broke, but it did eventually. When that happened, I was forced to put on my dress shoes and create my own versions of tap-dance for my Nana. Shirley Temple, after all, was a triple threat, and I needed to be as well.