Singin' a Song

For a long time I never let anyone hear my singing voice. My brothers and I would put on Christmas Eve "shows" for our parents, and for the majority of them there was singing involved, usually with a solo for each child. For the first few years we did a Nativity reenactment, with Scripture reading and traditional carols.

Now, let's see if you intelligent readers can guess, with a cast of three brothers and a lone sister, who was cast as Mary each and every year? In eighth grade I said I was no longer going to stuff a pillow up my shirt to play the virgin and we switched to Veggie Tales and The Grinch for our inspiration. Come to think of it, even then I used a pillow for stomach padding, as I was cast as Bob the Tomato. Patrick was Larry Boy, though, and had to wear tight purple shorts, so I guess things were evened out to semi-fairness.

I humbly accepted my parents and brothers' praise of my solo of The First Noel one year at Christmas Eve dinner, in the humble manner that a ten year old girl can only manage when it is Christmas Eve and she is wearing her Sunday best best with the knowledge that presents are coming within 24 hours. I would like to give myself more credit here as a pretty good kid, which I was, but this hyperactive personality did not just appear overnight, so to ask me to nibble quietly as accolades for my beautiful singing voice were heaped upon me is and was a little uncharacterstic. Just sayin'.

I had a solo at school in the fourth grade, for which I had to audition. We sang a song called "Aspen Leaves are Falling," written by our (Colorado) music teacher. In college my friend Lisa caught me singing "You Were Meant for Me" by Jewel and got very excited, and my friend Kelly heard me singing "That's the Way it Is" by Celine and I believe her exact words were, "Bailey has a good voice!" Not that I remember it verbatim or anything...

So I was aware, by young adulthood, that I could sing well.

But like kissing, I find that singing is one of the most vulnerable activities a human being can engage in. Many people feel that way about dancing, I imagine, although I think it gets misunderstood by the non-dancers themselves even as being embarrassing instead of actually vulnerable. I find dancing to be my happiest activity, even moreso than writing, I think, and feel free rather than vulnerable when I direct my limbs in all directions, beats bumping through the air. I think if people were simply embarrassed by dancing, they would probably do it much more often. But my theory is that it is deeper than that, and that is why alcohol enters the picture so often at dance scenes. I can't tell you how many times people have told me, "I'm not drunk enough yet to dance." Personally, I'm a little offended if someone attributes my dancing skills to a beer, because that is so not the case. But I digress.

I've been digressing a lot so far in this post. Thanks to all who are still with us here in paragraph seven. Buckle up for the next few.

The summer before I left for a semester in southern Africa I, much like now, began to freak out. At the time I, much like now, knew I was making the right decision in going, but during the final countdown of weeks realized I needed gifts for my host families in the southern hemisphere, needed a conservative wardrobe, a swimsuit, a sulfa allergy medical alert bracelet. And I also realized, "OH MY GOODNESS I AM LEAVING THE COUNTRY FOR THREE MONTHS!!!!!" Ahem. Of course I was fine, packed myself into one suitcase (holla), had friends with me for three months, and don't regret a minute of my romping about and communing with my new friends who taught me so much.

But during that summer, in the moments when I wasn't able to keep my hands busy filing license plate renewals at my air conditioned job, I found a way to take off the edge of my freak outs. I don't know the exact moment, an exact song, a specific car ride with the radio blasting, but that summer I began to sing. Out loud. And loudly. There was something inside me that said, "To Hell with my fear, let me be heard!" I discovered, simply and only, that I felt better when I was singing than when I was not.

One's volume comes from his middle, her unique "you" sound from the throat, and the final nuances grab on to the rush of breath on the way out of the mouth. I guess it's so significant to me because an untamed tongue can get you into so much trouble, and this is not untrue when singing instead of speaking, but it is so unexplainably powerful to sing. For both the singer and the listener.

When we got to Africa we immediately began spending hours each day in 15-passenger vans, with no air conditioning, summer heat, thus windows always open, ourselves, and a radio/CD player. So naturally, we began to sing. Every time we got in those kombis (vans). I think exactly half of our group loved to sing and the other half hated it. But that did not stop us singers in our obnoxious, constant belting for the entire semester, never ceasing until we were dropped off at our departure terminal headed back to the States.

During our time there, particularly with my host families, I discovered that no one there seems to feel strange or shy about singing. I even asked someone at one point about the concept of feeling unsure about singing in front of others, and I remember she shrugged her shoulders because the idea was so foreign (pun intended?) to her and had never crossed her mind. I credit this to the tight knit communities, as well as the practice of group singing from infancy, something not exactly present in America, save around campfires and, depending, in churches. Obviously people are asked to sing together, the National Anthem at baseball games, "Happy Birthday to You," but there's a very easy out in our culture. You can just fake it, lip sync, or not move your lips at all. We're much more comfortable in our culture, I would say, to boldly not participate than to participate.

And here I will stop. Take this post for what it is. I was going for something poetic, but I fear it sounds a little opinionated (Gasp! Not that!), but hopefully thought provoking. And hopefully inspiring to crank the tunes and let loose. You'll feel better, I promise. Stress level, down. Inner bubbles, up. On that note, pardon me as I peruse my Celine library...