Scratch in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little colt blue and the mare in the moon
When you comin' home dad?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then, dad
You know we'll have a good time then
Rolando paced from one end of the whitewashed corridor to the other, his heart racing in his chest. The recording session had just ended, when he had gotten the news. His personal carriage had raced him from the studio to the hospital in record time, though it had felt like an age. Dashing out of the carriage, he hadn't noticed his valet failing to hide a knowing smile. Even a world renowned musician was given room for eccentricity, doubly so on a day such as this.
"I am going to be a father..." That simple phrase consumed Rolando's thoughts, when it wasn't dominated by other questions: what would he be like, would he like music, would he be a good father? His legs threatened to give out, he could barely breathe. He wanted to sit down, but he felt that if he did, his heart would explode. And so, the maroon stallion, jaw set, restlessly paced the quiet hospital hallway.
After what seemed like an eternity, a doctor walked through the double doors leading to the maternity wing. His eye's met Rolando's, and he nodded curtly. It took all of Rolando's will to resist the urge to bolt through the doors and race to his wife's side. The doctor led him at a brisk pace through several corridors and doors. The anxious pony thought it impossible, but with each step his heart beat quickened. This was it, this was it!
And then, in what felt later like a dream, the doctor opened a door leading into a small room. Rolando slowly crossed the threshold, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes tearing up. There, in a small bed lay his wife, her disheveled appearance eclipsed by her warm, satisfied smile. And there. There, next to her, nuzzled at her side, was his...
"Filly," the doctor spoke breaking his trance. "Nine pounds, seven ounces. A perfectly healthy foal." At this simple statement, Rolando's train of thought derailed in a spectacular explosion. "You may have a few minutes alone with your wife and daughter, then we will need to take your daughter to the maternity ward." The doctor held open the door for the small petite nurse who had been cleaning the supplies. She winked at Marianna as she stepped out. The door slowly shut behind them, and the room was thrown into silence.
"A daughter," he stated slowly, walking toward his wife and foal.
"Our daughter," his wife emphasized in a scolding tone. He came to stand at her side and admired their newborn filly. Her coat was a soft eggshell hue, contrasted by her midnight black mane. His gaze drifted to her eyes, closed as she slept.
"They are crimson," his wife whispered, following his gaze. He could feel her pride-- her joy, emanating off of her. He shared every ounce of it, but slowly, slowly, coherent thought returned, and with it a thousand more worries.
"I-I... I never thought she would be--well, a she." His wife's eyes shot towards him and hardened for the first time. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued.
"It seems silly, but I always thought, ‘colt, colt, colt’." He stared past his wife and foal, through them, into the uncertainties that plagued him.
"I always knew that it could be a filly. But I was so sure it would be a colt. I felt it in my entire being. And now, and now all my worries, all my ideas need to change."
Her eyes softened slightly. "This changes nothing, you know."
"But it does. A daughter is more precious, more..." he trailed off, struggling to describe what a daughter meant to a father, to all fathers.
"A daughter needs to be protected," he finished lamely. A knowing smile grew on his wife's lips.
"Rolando Stacatto," she admonished jokingly, "are you implying mares are not strong, that I need protecting?" Rolando grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.
She turned to look at their daughter once more, that warm smile returning. "She will be strong in her own way, you know." Her eyes began to tear up.
"Of course she will be." He nuzzled his wife lovingly.
He backed away slightly, to catch her gaze. "I mean, look at her parents," he joked, grinning.
She chuckled at that. "Yes of course. How could I forget."
His face grew serious after a moment. "Dear, I had thought of colt names, but not," he trailed off, again reminded of his folly.
"Vincenza," she stated simply. “Her name is Vincenza.”
"Vincenza," he repeated slowly, a smile spreading across his face. Yes, Vincenza. His daughter.
Rolando tapped his hoof as he listened to the phone ring. It was cold in Fillydelphia, and the only place he could get a signal with his new cell phone was outside the concert hall. He had just finished his third performance of the tour he was doing for the Christmas season. With all the hustle and bustle of practicing and preparing he had not spoken to Marianna and Vincenza in several days.
Finally a harried voice replaced the accursed ringing. “Hello? Hello?”
“Marianna, dear, how are you and Vinc--” he winced as he was cut off by a crash from the other end.
“Vincenza, no! Don’t touch that--” he heard a thump, and the sound of hooves galloping away over the phone. A moment later a much different set of hooves could be heard galloping past.
“Da, da, da, da, da!” The voice of, what he could only guess was his daughter, shouted as she sprinted past the phone.
The ragged breathing of his wife could be heard after another thump. “Hello, huff, dear, huff. How, huff, are you?”
“I was going to complain, but I think I will defer to you. How is Vincenza, was that-- was that her first word?”
“Yes, she’s been saying it since the day after you left. The only time she is quiet is when she is either feeding or asleep.” She paused and her voice grew tense. “Dear, when are you coming home?”
“I told you Marianna, not for another week. I have two more concerts before we’re done. Remember we need to do this. Pemblegrass is retiring soon, this is my big chance. Once I become Celestia’s Orchestral Coordinator I will be able to spend more time at home.”
“I know dear, I know. It is, difficult without you at here. Before Vincenza, I was able to go with you, but now...” she trailed off.
“I promise I will call every night from now on. I know it is hard, but we need to do this, I need to do this, for Vincenza.”
“I said I know, dear, Just remember to call, alright?”
“I promise.” He began to say goodbye, but paused. ”Could you put Vincenza on the phone.”
He could hear the smile in his wife’s voice. “Of course, Rolando.”
The phone was held up to the babbling filly. “Hello Vincenza.”
“Da, da da da, da?”
“Yes it is dad. Listen, I will be gone for a few more days, but never fear, I will be home soon and,” he paused dramatically. “I will buy you such a wonderful present it will make even your mother jealous,” he said in mock seriousness.
He heard his wife chortle on the other end, as she took the phone from their babbling daughter. “I love you Rolando. Come home soon.”
“I love you too. Do not fret, I will.” He sighed as he shut the phone. He would be home soon. It was this mantra which finally brought him peace that night.
Rolando found himself in his study, brooding. It was several months away from the summer sun festival, and he still had not chosen the pieces for the concert in Celestia's honor. He had struggled for weeks to make a decision--one of any kind, but it eluded him. Sheet music was scattered on every available surface. Light lilting melodies and strong pivotal movements, quick intense allegros and long flowing adagios, the reasoning for each clashed violently in his mind.
Rolando was so caught up in his inner turmoil, he didn't hear the door slowly open, or the quiet hoofsteps navigate the maze of music. Huffing in annoyance, he selected a piece at random, and began to play. After only a few notes he paused, before scowling, putting the music aside and selecting another stack of sheet music. It was after his fifth random choice that the small filly behind him finally spoke up.
"I liked that one daddy." A soft voice interrupted his musing. "Why did you stop?"
Rolando jumped, almost scattering Bethooven's 5th across the room. Turning, he saw Vincenza sitting in the overstuffed chair he kept in the corner.
"Vincenza, why are you in here? I thought you had lessons with Miss Grady this afternoon."
"But that's boring," she whined. "I want to be here with you!"
Her pleading crimson eyes would have broken any pony’s will. Rolando could not deny his daughter, not this time.
"Alright," he caved, "but you need to keep quiet. I am working."
"I promise," she intoned solemnly, before promptly breaking her word.
"Why did you stop though? That song was really nice."
Rolando sighed, he was going to regret letting Vincenza stay. "There is no doubt of that, dear, but I need to choose the best pieces for the Summer Sun Festival. Each needs to fit together perfectly."
Her eye's widened. "But, the Summer Sun Festival isn't for ages. Why do you need to pick now?" He smiled at his daughter's naive concept of time.
"I need to choose now because I need time to practice. Everything must be perfect."
"Everything?"
"Everything. Now keep quiet and you can listen while I work."
Rolando went back to playing the various pieces, before discarding them. Vincenza, for the most part, kept silent. He had almost forgotten she was there, until she squealed after he had discarded another piece.
"That was awesome!"
"Awesome?" The unfamiliar word felt strange on his tongue.
"Awesome," she repeated, beaming.
He stared for a moment, before glancing back to the music that he had just tossed aside. His mind sparked with complimenting pieces and possible arrangements.
Once again lost in thought, the door opened. "Excuse me, sir, but have you seen--Vincenza! What are you doing in here?" Sebastian exclaimed, stepping inside.
"I'm listening to daddy!"
"Vincenza you are supposed to be with Miss Grady. We have already spent half the lesson looking for you."
Vincenza looked to Rolando, eye's begging once more. A stern cough from Sebastian prevented them from swaying him. "Vincenza, you have already missed half the lesson. I will make sure your mother does not punish you if you finish the rest of it."
"Alright," she grudgingly agreed. Marianna's punishments could be legendary.
She slowly followed Sebastian out of the room, but before he could return to the problem at hand, she poked her head in the door once more.
“I’m going to be the best, just like you daddy.”
He turned back to smile at her warmly. “I am sure you will Vincenza. I do not doubt it.”
Smile returning to her face, Vincenza closed the door. Rolando could hear her skipping off, no doubt pestering Sebastian. He turned once more to his work, marveling at the strength his daughter’s blind faith gave him. He would be the best, for her and Marianna.
