“Like A Child” – A Ballad That Defines Emotion, Sung by Julie Rogers

Introduction

Julie Rogers, the renowned British singer, left an indelible mark on the music industry with her heartfelt rendition of “Like A Child.” This timeless song, released in 1964, has captivated audiences for decades and continues to resonate with its poignant lyrics and Rogers’ emotive delivery. Julie Rogers by Ronald Dumont

Did You Know?

Julie Rogers: Julie Rogers was a British singer born on April 6, 1943, in London, England. She rose to fame in the 1960s with her melodic and soulful voice. Rogers’ rendition of “Like A Child” remains one of her most cherished and memorable works. She had a successful career in the music industry, and her contributions to the world of music are celebrated to this day.

“Like A Child”: “Like A Child” is a heartfelt ballad that explores themes of vulnerability, love, and the profound emotions one experiences in the journey of life. Julie Rogers’ emotional depth and vocal prowess made this song an instant classic, touching the hearts of music lovers worldwide. It continues to be an anthem for those who appreciate the timeless beauty of vintage music. Julie Rogers appears on a programme for ABC TV (UK). 1965. | Julie rogers, Abc tv, Uk charts

Video

Lyrics: Like A Child

Like a child I need love and tender care,
Like a child, need you with me everywhere.
Like a child I can’t stand pain;
Hurt me, I’ll cry!

Like a child with a new and shiny toy,
Like a child I’m so full of love and joy!
Like a flower without rain,
Desert me, I’ll die!

I must confess that I never felt this way before,
But with every passing day, it seems I love you more and more!

Like a child, I want you so proud of me;
Like a child, me and my heart agree
That I could never love again
If you said goodbye!
That I could never love again
If you said goodbye!

WHILE HOLLYWOOD DEBATED POLITICS FROM AIR-CONDITIONED ROOMS, TOBY KEITH WAS SHARING MESS HALLS AND DODGING MORTAR FIRE IN KANDAHAR, LEARNING THE UNVARNISHED COST OF FREEDOM BESIDE FOUR FLAG-DRAPED COFFINS.Toby didn’t pack his guitar and jump onto military transport planes for a photo-op or a PR boost. He went because a country boy from Oklahoma believed that the kids holding the line thousands of miles from home deserved to know someone back in the States still had their backs. While armchair critics and industry elites hurled stones from a distance, Toby spent two decades in the grit of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Djibouti, refusing to let his fame insulate him from the reality of war.Then came 2004. Sitting in the belly of a cargo plane with four flag-draped coffins, all the gloss of multi-platinum records and stadium tours completely dissolved. Staring at those brave souls making their final journey home to families, offices, and small-town front porches, Nashville’s glittering bubble lost all meaning.Those four coffins taught him the heaviest lesson Nashville never could: that freedom isn’t an abstract talking point or a political slogan. It is bought and paid for by ordinary men and women who stepped up when the call came. That silent, agonizing flight birthed “American Soldier”—not as a commercial radio ploy, but as a solemn vow to honor the people who bear the ultimate burden. It’s why he kept flying back into the fire year after year, earning a loyalty from the armed forces that no boardroom or award show could ever manufacture.

WHILE CRITICS SLAMMED HIM FROM COMFORTABLE DESKS, TOBY KEITH SPENT TWO DECADES BRINGING A PIECE OF HOME TO THE MOST DANGEROUS CORNERS OF THE WORLD. Toby Keith didn’t have to get on the planes. He was already sitting at the absolute summit of country music—commanding private jets, selling out multi-night arena runs, and stacking up chart-topping hits that made him a household name. But instead of coasting on his success from the comfort of a luxury estate, he packed an acoustic guitar and flew straight into the teeth of war zones across Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kuwait. While armchair critics hurled stones and Hollywood labels threw punches over his unapologetic patriotism, Toby didn’t blink. He wasn’t there for a quick PR stunt or a sanitized photo-op. Over eleven grueling USO tours, he played more than 285 shows for nearly 256,000 troops, performing on flatbed trucks and forward operating bases far too volatile for full production crews. It was a debt he felt deeply to his father, H.K. Covel—an Army veteran who lost an eye in service and raised his kids to respect the flag. When his dad passed away just six months before 9/11, Toby channeled that raw grief into “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue” in a blistering twenty minutes, refusing to back down when the cultural storm hit. Behind the headlines, the soldiers knew the real man. They remembered him sitting down in regular mess halls, sharing stories, and playing through quiet exhaustion. Even when stomach cancer forced him into a grueling, private battle, his defiance never wavered—standing tall on stage in 2023 to deliver a haunting, unforgettable rendition of “Don’t Let the Old Man In” shortly before his passing in February 2024. He never wore official brass on his chest, but to the thousands who served under fire, Toby Keith didn’t just sing about freedom—he spent twenty years living it shoulder-to-shoulder with them.

FROM A ONE-ROOM COAL MINER’S SHACK TO THE PINNACLE OF NASHVILLE, LORETTA LYNN TURNED THE RAW STRUGGLES OF BUTCHER HOLLOW INTO AN IMMORTAL VOICE FOR EVERY WORKING-CLASS WOMAN.Long before the chandeliers of the Grand Ole Opry or the gold records lining her walls, Loretta Webb grew up in a tiny, uninsulated cabin in Butcher Hollow, Kentucky. Life there was measured in the heavy layer of coal dust settling over everything, bitter winters, and a mother’s miracle-working ability to stretch a meager meal across a house full of hungry kids. Her father bled for his family in the dark depths of the local mines, and that poverty wasn’t a poetic metaphor—it was simply the air they breathed.Marrying at just thirteen and a mother several times over before most girls had finished growing up, Loretta lived the unvarnished reality that most mainstream songwriters only tried to imitate. But she didn’t sing about hardship like a costume. She sang it like a living, breathing memory.When she finally stepped behind a microphone, she refused to soften the edges or play by polite, Nashville-approved rules. She wrote unflinchingly about cheating husbands, birth control, crushing debt, bone-deep exhaustion, and the quiet dignity of a woman who wouldn’t stay quiet just because a room got uncomfortable. When radio stations banned “The Pill” for being too scandalous, Loretta didn’t back down—she just stood her ground and let the controversy push her straight into the history books.She carried Butcher Hollow in every syllable she sang, giving a voice to generations of ordinary women who had been invisible to the cultural elite. Country music has seen its share of legends, but Loretta Lynn was something altogether rarer: living proof that the hardest, roughest life can still forge the most honest voice in American music.

WHEN A NERVOUS KID BACKSTAGE MET LORETTA LYNN, SHE PREDICTED HIS GREATNESS — AND DECADES LATER, HE BROUGHT HER OUT OF RETIREMENT TO CROWN HIM. Long before the multi-platinum albums and Stetson hats became his signature, Alan Jackson was just a wide-eyed kid running nervously through his songs backstage. That was when Loretta Lynn caught him in her crosshairs, looked right past the jitters, and delivered a stark prophecy: “You’re going to be one of the greatest singers in country music.” Years rolled on, and the prediction came true piece by piece. But in May 2017, a sudden stroke forced Loretta into quiet seclusion at her Hurricane Mills estate, canceling her tours and keeping her entirely out of the public eye for months. Then October arrived, and Alan was named to the Country Music Hall of Fame. When the time came, he made one specific request: he wanted Loretta there. Propped up by George Strait on one arm and her daughter Patsy on the other, she broke her long silence to make her very first public appearance since the stroke. Stepping up to the man she had believed in decades earlier, she placed the heavy medallion around his neck and smiled. “This is the first time I’ve been out of the house,” she told the room. “You’re the only thing that could have brought me here.” She looked right at Alan and closed it out with words that said everything: “He hasn’t let me down.”