More than any other age of my childhood, I remember being eleven. It was the year I first cared about my hair, coveted cool shoes, and dreamed of independence. It was the year music started riding shotgun in my life, and became my refuge, my own.
Annie is eleven, almost twelve, and her iPod is becoming more and more important. Tonight, after her second day of seventh grade, she flopped down on the sofa, offered me half of her headphones, and played me some songs.
"This is my favorite part!" She said as we huddled listening to Supertramp. "Right here, Mom, where the saxophone comes in, I love that!"
Her newly streaked reddish hair and rock 'n roll cut, her deep dimples, shining eyes and sweet smell; I couldn't help but move in closer, stare and smile, wishing I could climb inside her world as she mouthed the words.
"Do you like this?" She asked while playing the new Black Eyed Peas.
"I love this," I replied. "I love this."
Click the music player to hear what she hears, I Gotta Feeling you'll like it.