Remembering How, As A Child, I Was Scared Of People Hearing Me

I am reminded this week of the person I was years ago. Not that I am old, by any stretch, but it is remarkable how reflection on a couple decades can remind you just how much you have changed.

As a little girl, I loved to listen to music, but I couldn't bear the agony of singing in front of someone. Maybe I sang in front of my parents from time to time--I can't remember. But I have distinct memories from the playground in which two other girls in my 2nd grade class were singing a song and wanted me to join in, and I tried, but I couldn't bring myself to make a sound because I was so petrified that they would--gasp--hear me.

Everything changed in 7th grade when I met Mrs. Levinsohn. I had just moved to a new school; in fact, it might have been my first day in attendance, and we had choir class with her, which was interrupted by a fire drill. She had told me (prior to the fire drill) that she wanted to see me after class, so as soon as they released us, I went back to the choir room...and waited...and waited...and waited some more. Finally, she came back, certainly having no recollection that I was supposed to meet with her and probably thinking that there was no way I'd remember after the fire drill, anyway. She returned, though, and she began running me through vocal drills to try to place me. I don't know what it was about her manner, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid to sing in front of someone. Serena and Jennie, my two "buddies" during those early days, came down to find me eventually. As they walked me back to class, they both couldn't stop talking about what a "good" voice I had. I will never forget that day. It changed me profoundly, though I did not recognize it at the time.

I am still afraid to sing in front of people most of the time. This past Sunday was our church Christmas program, in which I was part of a four-part quartet and then sang a solo of "The First Noel" with the choir backing me. As is often the case, I was convinced that I was the weakest link. And you know what? I probably was. But I find each time that I sing in front of people to be just a little bit better than the last, with great hope that perhaps someday, I will actually be good enough to warrant the opportunities that I am granted.

Music will likely never be my career, unless my odd dreams of becoming a church choir director ever materialize. And yet there is something about it that so embodies who I am, who I wish to be. It is why I will always try to be part of a choir wherever I am and why Broadway Nights twice a year in Lansing are the major highlights of my year. The song must come forth, even if the mechanism is imperfect little me.

(ps. Happy birthday, Frank Sinatra!)