que, sera sera

In 1956, Eisenhower defeated Stevenson, Sabin invented the oral polio vaccine and the Methodist Church accepted women into the clergy. Several newborns arrived who someday would be headliners–Tom Hanks, Dorothy Hamill, Bill Maher. We welcomed a tiny new one into our home, as well, which meant that my tenure as baby-in-residence came to a halt. And my awareness that I was expected to take my place in an exciting, overwhelming world began to grow.

Being one of those “too sensitive” little kids who worried herself wild about everything–the farmers’ talk of droughts and loss, the visiting revivalist’s talk of Judgment Day, the newscasters’ talk of the impending Russian threat–I had my work cut out for me.

Fortunately, I had two aces:  my big sister Marilyn, who calmed more fears and tears than either of us can count, and Doris Day.  Yep. Doris Day…because she sang Que, Sera Sera.  

I remember several songs wafting out of the polished, wood-cased RCA Victor radio in those years. Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego. Hound Dog. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. But none provided the mental health hit of hearing Doris’ sweet voice describing a little girl’s wondering about the years stretching before her, clearly surviving and enjoying them, and learning at heart-level that she could only manage so much. The future’s not ours to see.

Que sera, sera.

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One Response to “que, sera sera”

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