If ever there was a doubt in anyone’s mind that That Baby was meant to be my daughter, it was completely, 100%, completely erased yesterday.
Yesterday, on the 25th anniversary of LiveAid, we began our day of listening to the performances from that day in 1985 with what has been recognized as the greatest live rock performance of all time: Queen’s set at Wembley.
Over her morning waffle, Stinkerbelle sat riveted, bopping her head and telling me “Boy! Walk!” as Freddie strutted around the stage in front of her. She was enchanted.
And then, in due course, the clip was over.
And That Baby? Her little face just crumpled, and she CRIED. She began to wail with a great sadness. And cried “MORE! MORE! MORE!”, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
I was so proud. My kid loves, REALLY LOVES, music. Just like her mama.
We watched Freddie a bunch more times yesterday, That Baby singing along, and once breakfast was done, she spun and hopped and danced around the kitchen. My little African rock-and-roll baby, singing along with me to the original, the great, African-Asian rock star, celebrating the day of music and awareness that began life’s pull on me towards Africa.
Sometimes, the fates get it right.