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quite popular then; the so-called Christian contemporary genre had made it onto the radio and was gaining some serious mass audience. Of course, we didn’t know anything about demographics. We just thought it was great that folks invited us over, and they thought it was great that here was this little girl with a big voice.
    My aunt Roselan heard there was going to be an all-out national talent search for a little girl to play Little Orphan Annie in the movie version of the Broadway musical and declared that I could sing as well as anyone else they were going to dig up. She and Mom took me to Oklahoma City to audition, and I got called back and actually advanced all the way to the screen test with just a few other girls. I think what sank me was when they asked me if I was familiar with the comic strip, and my answer sounded something like “Ah don’t know innythang about it, but Ah kin larn it.”
    Mom tried to coach me on the dialect, but that was the blonde leading the blonde.
    “Think about that Barbra Streisand song,” she said, affecting a spavined Brooklynese. “Sam, yuz made the pants too long.”
    Mom should not be allowed to sing either. All that did was give us something to crack up laughing about all the way home after I didn’t get the part. Of course, I loved the idea of getting to be in a realiotrulio movie with Carol Burnett, whom I worshiped and wanted to be, but none of us seriously expected that to happen. The excursion began and ended as something fun to do, so there was no disappointment. Fun was had. Mission accomplished. Mom and I were entirely taken aback when we saw the way some people treated it like guerrilla warfare. Armed with professional headshots and résumés, they drilled and agonized and clearly regarded every other soul in the room as an enemy. Same with the little Oklahoma Kids talent competition I participated in. There were some rabid stage mothers in that greenroom,let me tell ya, and for their kids, the experience neither began nor ended as fun. How sad is that for a little child? On the off, off, off, off—and did I mention off ?—chance that such a thing would lead to a big break in showbiz, how likely is it that the person would enjoy a single moment of his or her working life?
    My mom and dad didn’t know about professional headshots or any of that stuff. They didn’t even know what they didn’t know. They felt their job was to encourage me in whatever direction made me happy. I was a kid; happiness was the object of the game. Looking back, I see how this just-for-fun approach benefited me throughout my career. I’ve had to make some tough choices: a regular spot on The West Wing or a new musical called Wicked, a role in the solidly successful Broadway hit Annie Get Your Gun or a completely experimental character in You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. That’s just two. There have been many others, including the recent Frankenstein or Daisies jawbreaker. I never make decisions that angle for advance or grab for money; it’s always about the fun factor, the challenge, the joy of working with people I like and respect.
    A room of my own. A big yard to roam.
    Literally and figuratively, that’s what my parents gave me.
     
    “‘As the clock was now half past the hour of noon’” Karla’s poem continues, sweet and unaffected, “‘he knew he’d better get home very soon.’”
    It’s almost time for me to sing. I’m supposed to do “Amazing Grace.” A cappella. Which seemed like a good idea at the time I said I would do it. Now not s’much.
    Keep on keepin’ on, I tell myself, nails to my palm. Keep on keepin’ on.
    “Just look at the clock,” whispers my cousin Kim. “You’ll be fine.”
    Kimbo’s always been a regular font of folk wisdom. When we werelittle, she told me the best way to see if a cow pie was fresh or dry was to stick my foot in it. This worked especially well with my brand-new Holly Hobbies socks. Another time she told me, “A man and