“I heard your CD today,” she tells me. Our teenage babysitter is the rockstar of my daughter’s life, and tonight she tells me how our little girl pulled out my first album from when I was 20 and shared it with her. “You have a great voice. You could’ve been something!” Gulp. That one goes down hard. I’m nearly 33 and for some reason, those four words seem to stick into my heart a little like gritty dirt and sour lemon.