“Mommy? Can I watch this?” he asked as he pointed to the screen. A little boy and a little girl in a familiar story except that it was being played out by animated clay figures to almost glorious music instead of the raucous melodies that usually wafted through the house on a cartoon-filled Saturday morning.

“I like this,” his mother replied. While she enjoyed her music; Eddy Arnold and Eddie Fisher were numbered among the friends, she never really introduced any music to him other than through the labored efforts of her 78s collection.

In fact, his mother rarely spoke of the things she enjoyed, almost preferring to display her likes by crocheting or by raising Persian Cats for show without so much as a comment. If she had a favorite movie or song, she rarely talked about it. So her admission that she liked the movie that was beginning was almost a shock.

“He’s a girl,” his mother pointed to the clay animation of the brother. Odd even now, looking back so many years to muse about his mother’s observation, but then again, ‘mothers always know.’

“A boy is a girl, Mommy?” he stared at the screen. She did not answer, but walked to the TV and turned up the volume a bit.

“I think you’ll really like this, too.” She sighed. Mommy, it was learned years later had her own reason for loving the opera; sadness mixed with hope.

“I think Julie will like this!” the boy looked over his shoulder to view his sister's bedroom as the story unfolded.

“Oh...She’s at Lynnie’s house,” his mother said with another sigh. Julie spent a lot of time at Lynnie’s house lately. The boy returned her sigh with one of his own even as the story turned scary. A little boy and a little girl in peril from an evil witch that became horribly too familiar as the boy stared in frightened, rapt attention. He winced as the story continued to play out with beautiful, terrible music.

“I always want to hide when night comes, sweetie, but let’s keep watching,” his mother said. On an odd but oddly normal morning, they would most likely be alone.

Jackie, his younger brother, was off playing as was his seven year old wont. Julie would probably stay over at Lynnie’s house until Sunday evening, and Vinnie was in Texas doing his basic training before the Air Force sent him someplace permanent.

“Here’s the part that…” his mother hesitated, having good reason for so many years to keep silent about anything to do with feelings. But she continued.

“This is the part that always makes me cry,” she said. Rare, precious tears welled in her eyes, but she uttered no sob. She used her hand to direct his attention to the TV where the boy and girl were being sung to a safe sleep by an angelic presence.

“Mommy? I’m not scared so much any more,” the boy said. It was almost a dream after that. As much as the movie played out like he remembered from the story he had read so many times before, he almost felt his hand reaching out to Julie so many miles away. His near- rapture was interrupted by the triumphant strains of the opera as the movie finished.

“It’s over?” he blinked as words filled the screen.

“Yes, honey. It’s over,” his mother nodded; the tears in her eyes still present but barely spilled.

“Mommy?” he walked over and sat down next to her on the couch. She looked at him in expectation without a word.

“Why did they have a girl play the boy?” A reasonable question in an already confused childhood. Of course musically, only a mezzo-soprano Hansel could sing along with the soprano of ’his’ sister Gretel. But his mother nodded and smiled.