"Hello, Kelly"

The summer I was four years old, my family vacationed at The Basin Harbor Club on Lake Champlain in Vt. It was a luxury resort that offered a variety of activities for all generations. My affluent grandparents were spending the summer there, and invited my family to come up for a week. The drive from my house in Warwick, Rhode Island, seemed endless. But I bubbled up with excitement as I caught the symbol of my first view of Basin Harbor; the colorful Adirondack chairs that resided in front of the sprawling cottages. “I see a red chair!” I yelled with much enthusiasm.

I don’t remember much about that trip. I know my family stayed in one of the cottages. I was too young to partake of the golf or tennis lessons. I believe that I went swimming, and I vaguely remember attending a children’s day camp that offered arts and crafts. I have seen a photograph taken by my father, labeled “Basin Harbor” on the back, of me on a hayride wearing a summer dress and matching hat that looked ridiculously over-sized on my head. I have no memory of that hayride. What I do recall, however, is an experience of that trip that shines in my memory like a beacon on a murky night. It occurred during dinner, the third night of our vacation.

We ate every evening in the spectacular Main Dining Room, surrounded by windows exhibiting gorgeous views of Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. A band would play, drawing some folks to waltz on the dance floor. Formal attire was required, and I loved to put on one of my lacy dresses and white patent-leather shoes and twirl around before dinner, encouraging much adulation from my grandfather, whom I adored. My parents were of the subscribers to the “Don’t Give The Kid A Swelled Head” theory of parenting. They were extremely frugal in their bestowing of affirmation. As a result, I was starving. Hungry for praise and encouragement. Verbal affirmation. My love language.

On this particular night of my memory, I excitedly entered the Main Dining Room for dinner, eager to have my usual shrimp cocktail and “Shirley Temple” drink. Seated at a table near the window with my parents and grandparents, I distracted myself by watching some colorful sailboats lazily skimming Lake Champlain while listening to the club band play. Suddenly, I was startled to hear, “Can Kelly come up here?” With a big smile, my grandfather took me by the hand and led me to the center of the dance floor, where a spotlight now shone. And the band began to play a song. FOR ME!

“Hello, Kelly…Well hello, Kelly…. It’s so nice to have you back where you belong….,” they sang. My pulse began to race. “You’re looking well, Kelly…I can tell, Kelly…You’re still glowin’, you’re still crowin’ , you’re still goin’ strong…” A song FOR ME! Still holding my grandfather’s hand, I swayed a bit. He twirled me around. My courage growing, I precociously began to do a little dance in time to the music, clicking my shiny white shoes on the smooth floor. Every eye in the dining room was on me, every smile was for me. I was the “belle of the ball.” I was thrilled to the bone! And I was wearing my favorite party dress! My heart soared with rapture. For that moment, I felt loved and adored like never before. I ate it up with my entire being, gluttonous with greed, until I was completely satiated. The affirmation I had been yearning for my whole four years of life felt poured over me in buckets on that night. It was MY song. It was MY dance. It was MY moment to shine.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned the song was actually called, “Hello, Dolly” from the Broadway musical of the same name, and that the lyrics had been changed on the spur of the moment that night, when my grandfather had implored the band to play a song for his beloved granddaughter. And the band played it every subsequent night of my vacation, as soon as I entered the dining room. A simple request from the heart of a dear, thoughtful man. Making a deep impact on the soul of a little four-year-old girl. Invaluable.

The years have gifted me with the love and affirmation I need, given generously from my husband, children and a smattering of friends. But during those times when I feel beaten up by the stuff of life; days or weeks when I feel misunderstood, invalidated, unappreciated or overlooked, I can reach down into my memory bank and draw up the picture of my four-year-old self, dancing in the spotlight. Feeling loved.

And from what I know of God’s character, I am the apple of His eye; sated with all of His undivided attention, devotion and love. I need nothing more. I can almost hear Him singing, when I enter Heaven, "Hello, Kelly...Well hello, Kelly...It's so nice to have you home where you belong..."
“You are beautiful, my darling, beautiful beyond words.” (Song of Songs 4:1)