Dogwood Chapter 6

Famous is a Six Letter Word.

I am from a very, very small town which means I know what it’s like to be very, very famous.

Every time I go home to see my parents, at least one stranger stops me on the street to say “hey aren’t you [The Believer’s] kid? The dancer right? Wow that’s just so amazing!” Please respect celebrity privacy, sir. I can’t even grab milk without running into my 3rd and 6th grade teachers at the Piggly Wiggly.

In 8th grade, I left my very, very small town and went to a very, very preppy boarding school as the teacher’s kid. My dad (The Historian) was and is very, very proud of me which meant that over the years his students heard every update of my dance career in very, very real time. Class period by class period. I’d get stopped in the quad by kids I didn’t even know saying “Hey congratulations for getting into [insert prestigious conservatory]!!! That’s awesome!” (See how I squeezed a very, very little brag in there? *wink*)

The point is, I have been approached on the street by randos my entire life. Though, it doesn’t help that I happen to look very, very famous too. Pause your eye roll and bear with me, here.

Throughout my life, a very, very many people have stopped to compliment me and some have even tried to sneak a quick pic. This one day I was with a fabulous group of friends in Mexico City and we kept being intercepted by gawking families and kids waving hello. Not too offensive, but confusing out and about in a foreign city. The fifth time this happened, a 7 year old approached our lunch table, shyly asked for a photo, and held out a colorful booklet for us to sign. A Playbill. As it turned out, most of Mexico City thought we were the cast of Aladdin on tour for the next two months. How very, very disappointed they were.

When I was 18, long before CDMX, I stood checking my bag for a flight out of Nashville and the counter agent paused with my ID for a good long while. She squinted, looked up at me very, very suspiciously and asked, “are you one of those singers the kids I work with know about? They’re always telling me names I’ve never heard of.” I said I wasn’t but she remained very, very skeptical as she took my luggage and waved me off.

I think one of my partners put it best while seeing my very, very small hometown for the first time. As if suddenly all the puzzle pieces snapped into place he gasped and said “oh my god. You have been closed-circuit famous for your whole life.” The mystery was very, very solved. His “no wonder you’re so delusional” went unsaid.

I’ll grant you that I am very, very cocky, but I hope to impart that The Bambi Show, this enfant terrible standing before you, is more than just that. I guess what I’m saying is blame my very, very small town and my very, very proud parents for my monstrous sense of self. I half expect to get stopped on the street most days I leave the haus because most days I am. *’nother wink*

But I assure y’all, everyone’s already heard of Bambi so I’m exactly as famous as I’d like to be thank you very, very much.

The best part about being from a very, very small town is your sense of a “sold-out crowd” is actually very, very intimate. And that’s gloriously more than enough.

Talk soon, love. There’s a very, very special season coming.