Sing Out

My friend Hugh once did a study for the Catholic schools of Philadelphia about singing.  He asked students of various grades who thought they could sing.  In kindergarten 100% of students claimed to be singers, in third grade the number of self described singers dropped a little to about 80%, six grade it was only about 40% and by 10^th grade only about two in ten felt they could sing.  For most of the high schoolers they probably could sing better than they could at five years old, but their standards had been raised.

I knew early on in life that I actually could not sing, despite having a talented father and sister in the vocal arts.  This was confirmed to me my first day of boarding school.  As I nervously went through the registration line with all the other new girls I learned of my room assignment, my class schedule and the time of the mandatory voice test with the choir mistress Miss Sala.  Girls ahead of me in line informed Miss Sala that their voice test was unnecessary because they had not the interest or vocal talent.  The sixty-year-old girls school veteran staunchly held firm to the requirement that all new girls take a voice test, that was until she heard me speaking.

As I wound my way through the line she caught up with me and took my voice test time assignment paper from my hand, telling me I was excused.  Apparently in the history of The Ethel Walker School I was the only new girl ever rejected from any singing requirements without even taking the test, a test I was actually willing to try.  Poor Miss Sala did not know that day that in the years to come my lack of any vocal training was going to become a school wide problem.

My senior year I was the head of the Northfield League, the girls in charge of the chapel program.  Thursday morning chapel was a mandatory school wide meeting where I often spoke.  After finishing my prayer, reading or talk I would start the school off in a hymn.  The first few times I actually sang the first note, which was always off key, I would get the entire chapel of girls and fifty adults started off wrong.  Miss Sala in great frustration eventually found a member of the choir who sat behind me to ghost sing for me.  I would open my mother and pretend to sing and a beautiful sound came out from behind me, but most people in the pews were unaware of the lip dubbing we were doing.

My lack of ability has never stopped me from singing.  I just try and keep it from bothering the rest of the world.  Because of this I usually sit in the second pew at church now so I can sing as loudly as I want and there is almost never anyone in front of me that I am annoying.  This morning I arrived at church and some visitors were sitting in my regular seat and so I sat right behind them in the third row.  I am never happy about losing my regular seat, but then I figure the poor people who got there first will not make that mistake again once I disturb their music enjoyment with my singing.

As we stood singing the first hymn today the small child sitting in front of me turned and looked at me and gave me a big smile while I sang.  I smiled back through my notes.  She then gave me a little wave and a bigger smile.  My singing must be improving I thought, and sang louder.  She looked at me through all three versus and then as the hymn ended she turned around, still standing on the pew.  It was then that I noticed this little girl had two hearing aids that were only visible from the back of her head.  She certainly could not have heard me singing, she just liked that I smiled at her.  For a moment or two I was under the delusion that someone liked my singing, and you know what, someone did, even if she could not hear.