The story begins with a father standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of Italian meat spaghetti, a dish he knew his daughter loved. His mind wandered to how things had changed in their home lately. His daughter, once so full of life and excitement, had stopped going to school and had been staying in her room for days. Today, he decided it was time to break the silence and find out what was going on.
Carrying the steaming plate of spaghetti, he knocked on her door. There was a moment of hesitation before she softly called out, “Come in.”
As he stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was the walls. For years, her room had been covered from floor to ceiling in Beyoncé posters. She adored Beyoncé—her music, her message, her power. But now, the walls were bare, stripped of every image that once screamed empowerment and freedom.
“Hey kiddo,” he started, trying to sound casual as he handed her the plate. “What happened to all your Beyoncé posters?”
His daughter shrugged, taking a bite of the spaghetti. “I don’t know. Lately, Beyoncé hasn’t really suited me.”
The father blinked, surprised. “Beyoncé? You’ve been obsessed with her for years.”
“I know,” she said, her tone distant. “But something about it all just feels… off now. Like, I don’t connect with it anymore.”
He sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to make sense of it. “What brought this on?”
She took another bite, chewing slowly. “I don’t know. I just feel different, I guess. I was thinking about how people change, you know? I mean, even President Reagan once praised Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA,’ but Bruce hated that, right? It didn’t really fit what the song was about.”
Her father chuckled, still caught off guard by the turn in conversation. “Bruce? You know who Bruce Springsteen is?”
“Yeah, well, kind of. I heard about that speech in history class once.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I see what you’re saying. Reagan didn’t understand the song, thought it was something patriotic when it was more about struggle.”
“Exactly,” she said, setting her plate down. “Maybe I’m like Bruce now. Beyoncé used to feel like freedom to me, but lately, I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right.”
The father looked at her, understanding dawning. It wasn’t just about the music or the posters. His daughter was changing, finding herself, and trying to figure out what really resonated with her.
“Well,” he said, standing up, “if you’re feeling like Bruce, then you’re in good company. Just don’t lose sight of what makes you feel free.”
She smiled faintly. “Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded, heading back to the kitchen, leaving her to her thoughts. Maybe Beyoncé didn’t suit her right now, but whatever was next, he’d be there for her, just like always.
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