Own Your Years

Listen Up

BY CHERIE BUCKNER-WEBB

Perhaps the best-kept secret in our family was my mother’s age. Dorothy, like many women of her generation, was very intentional about guarding her secret. It was much more than a factor of aging. Menfolk discounted women as they matured. So, she began to perpetuate the myth of perpetual youth at a very early age. Her younger brother, Jack, even took an oath to never divulge that he was, in fact, the youngest child. And she got away with that illusion for a lifetime.

When Mom reviewed the first resume I crafted (while in high school) to apply for a job at Mountain Bell, she directed me to remove my age immediately. When questioned, she answered, “Do as your mother says, you will be glad you did.” I didn’t understand, but I clearly got the tone of her voice. I removed it.

I married, moved away from Boise, had children, and returned. I matured, aged. Mom did not, at least in her view, and therefore, neither did I. I remained her dutiful, young daughter as well.

Mom’s neighbors, Bill and Camille Rhodenbaugh, had great Jazz Jam Sessions at their home; Louie Ventrilla, Cliff Green, and lots of remarkable players rocked North 19th Street. One evening, Dorothy insisted that the guys let her daughter jam with them. I don’t know who dreaded it more, me or the guys, but my mom was a woman of purpose. “She’s just a young thing,” she said, in an effort to distort age, her own more than mine.

I have earned every single wrinkle and grey hair. I’m owning every one of my years and thankful for every day.

I noted the guys rolling their eyes and offering me oh-you-poorchild smiles. Rhody asked, “What can she sing?”

Without hesitation Dorothy replied, “God Bless the Child.”

“What key?” Rhody asked.

“No clue,” I answered.

Again the indulgent looks. The guys found a key for me and we worked that song! When we finished “Love for Sale,” I was all-in. The guys were calling me songbird, and I thought I was somebody. I shocked myself! The guys were more than encouraging, saying I sounded like a “seasoned sister.” I loved it!

Thanks to Bill Rhodenbaugh, my secular music career was launched. I had the joy of making great music with fabulous players in Idaho and across the country. There was a legend that I was underage for the clubs, but it was soon dispelled when some zealous reporter wrote, “Cherie Buckner, Boise High Class of 1970.” I was cold-dead busted. And proud of it. Mom would not have been pleased.

Today, I’m feeling very fortunate to celebrate the beginning of my seventh decade in a couple of months. I have earned every single wrinkle and grey hair. I’m owning every one of my years and thankful for every day. COVID, scarcity, fear, illness, isolation, the economy, and life pushed me to a new era of Cherie.

I’m looking forward to the future that will herald an even greater time of accomplishment for women the world over. Now, I say to womenfolk, we’ve hidden out long enough. We have proven that age is strictly a measure of time. We are indeed phenomenal women no matter our age—living, working, playing, endowing, creating— and phenomenally. Own it!