I told my seventeen-year-old daughter that music would ruin her life. Forty years later, after learning she’d spent her life believing in children the way I never believed in her, I finally wrote the apology I’d been too proud to send.
There are sentences that leave your mouth and disappear into the air. Then there are the ones that echo for the rest of your life. I was forty-eight years old …
I told my seventeen-year-old daughter that music would ruin her life. Forty years later, after learning she’d spent her life believing in children the way I never believed in her, I finally wrote the apology I’d been too proud to send. Read More
