Dear Hank Williams by Kimberly Willis Holt Page A

would sing. It was coming in as crisp and clear as a Louisiana winter day. Uncle Jolly had invited Garnett, who was every bit as excited as me. Aunt Patty Cake surprised us by pulling her own chair over close enough to hear.
    My heart pounded when I heard the announcer say, “Now here’s the Goree All Girl String Band performing ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken.’” I could hear Momma’s voice singing lead as it drifted from the speaker so loud and pure. It was as if she was standing smack in our living room singing.
    When Momma sang the solo part of the next song, Uncle Jolly turned to Garnett and whispered, “That’s Jordie June.”
    Garnett smiled and mouthed “Oh my!”
    â€œThat’s my momma,” I told Lovie. Frog was quiet, hugging his legs, and I could see how he was feeling like me. He missed Momma real bad.
    After the Goree Girls finished, Garnett began to clap. Then we all did. Uncle Jolly flipped off the radio. “Hard to top that.”
    Everyone wore a happy glow, the kind you get when something wonderful has happened. I remember thinking, This is the perfect time. I stood up. “I can’t top it, but I’ve got some good news to share.”
    Right off, Garnett leaned forward like she couldn’t wait to hear. “What’s that?” she asked.
    â€œI’m entering the singing category of the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest.”
    Well, you would have thought I’d let the air out of everyone’s tires. Everyone except Frog and Garnett, who slapped her knees and said, “Tate, that is wonderful news!”
    But looking at Aunt Patty Cake’s and Uncle Jolly’s faces, it didn’t seem so wonderful to them.
    Garnett didn’t let me down. “I’ll bet you have your momma’s gift. Why didn’t you tell me that, Jolly?”
    Uncle Jolly stammered, “Well … I … well, I … just don’t know.” Little beads of sweat spotted his forehead.
    Aunt Patty Cake leaned forward. “Are you certain you’re up for that, Tate?” Why didn’t she say what she was thinking? “You can’t sing, Tate. Not like your momma.”
    Garnett started to fill in all the miserable holes Aunt Patty Cake and Uncle Jolly were shooting in that happiest day. She kept talking about how delightful it was and how she could take off work and maybe she could get a front-row seat and she could borrow her friend Mabel’s camera and take a picture of me. But it made no difference. Nothing she said stirred Uncle Jolly or Aunt Patty Cake to her way of thinking. I didn’t bother telling them I’d been practicing for months. I’d rehearsed so much, Frog was probably tired of hearing me. After I went to bed that night, Frog sneaked into my room and tiptoed over to my bedside. “I think you sing real good,” he whispered. “I like ‘You Are My Sunshine’ the best.”
    That was not the song I was planning on singing in the talent contest, but I knew he was trying to make me feel better. I reached out to squeeze his hand, but he rushed away before I could catch it. And even though my little brother thinks I’m a good singer, my head was crowded with Aunt Patty Cake and Uncle Jolly’s reaction when they’d heard the news.
    And that, Mr. Williams, is how the best night ever became the worst.
    In a sorry state of mind,
    Tate P.

 
    March 2, 1949
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    A FTER MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, Aunt Patty Cake made me practice the piano every single day except Sunday. She was hoping to change my mind about entering the singing part. More than a few times, she said, “You might think about playing a song on the piano, Tate. That’s where you have the most experience.”
    The only song I could play on the piano was “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and I was not going to let Verbia Calhoon have the satisfaction of hearing me