Read by Rebecca McInroy
Just a little boy,
Four years old,
Sitting on the living room floor,
Criss-cross applesauce,
He holds two wooden kitchen spoons,
Scattered pots and pans around him,
He watches his favorite band, Journey,
And tries to drum along.
Just a little boy,
Eight years old,
With his first pair of drumsticks,
He practices day and night
And loves to show off for his family
But is too shy to show anyone else.
He grows older,
No longer criss-cross applesauce,
He sits on a stool
But still plays day and night,
A teacher tells him “you can do it”
Over and over, and he thinks
I come this far, played for so long
So he gets on stage
Excited with butterflies in his stomach
Less afraid.