Let Her Sing!
Jul 22, 2025
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Let Her Sing
The one who made me a mom first grew up singing—
all the time, everywhere.
It always surprised me that she could sing entire songs without missing a word. The chorus, the verses—she knew them all and sang with the full-bodied confidence of someone who belonged in music… even if she was still carrying a sippy cup.
One day, when she was not quite three, we pulled into the grocery store parking lot and spotted something unusual: the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, with a tiny little stage in front of it.
(Stay with me while I make two parenting confessions.)
First: my daughter wasn’t really a fan of hot dogs. She thought they tasted funny. Oscar Mayer wieners never made it into our fridge.
Second: she didn’t watch cable TV. I was a VHS mom. So, no commercials. No jingles. No brand recognition.
Which is why, when we parked and walked up, she didn’t notice the Wienermobile or the branding or what was clearly some sort of Oscar Mayer promotional event. All she saw was the small stage and the microphone.
Her almost-three-year-old heart skipped a beat that traveled straight down to her feet.
“Mommy, can I go sing?” she asked.
It was early. There were a few people starting what looked like a line, so we wandered closer just to see what was going on. She was already pulling me toward the stage with all her toddler determination, eyes locked on the mic.
I turned to try to figure out who was in charge. She dropped my hand—and before I realized it, she was at the bottom of the steps.
A woman appeared, clearly the one running things. “We’re not ready yet,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I replied quickly. “We’re just looking.”
But my daughter turned to the woman and, in what was usually a tiny voice, said loudly and clearly,
“No, we’re not. I want to sing.”
And that was that.
Turns out, they were preparing for auditions for a commercial. The event was about to begin, and the woman smiled kindly. “Well, if your mom will sign this form, you can sing in a bit.”
Of course, you know what I did, right?
Everything was going fine until I got to the part on the form that said “age”—with a note that participants had to be at least… honestly, I don’t remember the number, but almost three didn’t cut it.
I froze.
I may or may not have briefly considered the ethical repercussions of altering a birthdate.
But before I could think too long, the woman turned to my daughter and asked, “How old are you?”
“Almost three,” she said cheerfully.
Busted.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “You’re not old enough.”
I handed back the clipboard… and watched something shift in my daughter’s eyes. She didn’t cry. She didn’t throw a tantrum. But she knew—her heart’s desire had just been taken off the table.
I asked gently, “What time do you start?”
“In an hour,” she said.
“If I stand up there with her… could she just stand on the stage?”
At first, the answer was no. But a few people nearby had heard the conversation. One voice called out, “Oh, let her do it. Let her go up there and sing.”
Then another voice. Then another.
The woman nodded. “Okay.”
My daughter’s face lit up. She climbed those stairs like royalty, walked to the microphone, and—
I kid you not—checked to see if it was on.
She began to sway. And then she began to sing.
Not the Oscar Mayer jingle.
Oh, no.
She launched into Sleeping Beauty. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…”
Which is about the time the woman in charge realized she wasn’t singing “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener…” and made a dash toward the stage—probably to grab the mic.
But the crowd stopped her.
I heard one voice say, “Let her sing!”
And then another.
And another.
So she stepped back.
My daughter sang the entire song.
Took a bow.
And handed the microphone back.
The crowd—small as it was—clapped like crazy.
I’ve thought about that moment so many times over the years.
She didn’t sing the song they wanted.
She didn’t even know that song.
She sang the one already in her.
And she sang it like she belonged on that stage.
It wasn’t about performance or rules.
It was about dreams.
Desire.
Joy.
And the crowd knew.
They saw something worth protecting.
They said the words so many of us still need to hear:
Let her sing.
Maybe no one has said those words to you in a while.
Maybe you’ve been waiting for permission to show up.
Maybe you’ve tried to memorize the “right” song—the one that will finally earn you approval or applause.
But friend, you don’t have to sing what they’re expecting.
You get to sing the song already in you.
And if someone tries to take the mic away?
I hope someone nearby speaks up.
Let her sing.
I'll be cheering you on and clapping when your song is done,
Here's my book...✨Practicing Enough
