Facing Mediocrity, an addendum

In my last post I shared with you how during my childhood I came to terms with my mediocre vocal talent. Somehow since my last posting, I had "forgotten" about this inability of mine - and I traversed time and memories to that same place 26 years ago where I was an undiscovered star, ripe with talent.

Every year, my friend Sheila and I direct and produce the children's Christmas musical at church. These kids are precious - their eager faces, strong lungs, happy but slightly off-pitch voices penetrate the church walls and fill my heart with Christmas cheer. And every year I record the whole play, acting out the parts and singing all the songs so the children can practice during the week. It's a grand production, and I usually have my friend Yessica help with the acting and singing. Yessica moved to Miami this summer, so Sheila and Alfie came over to help me record the play. The kids love their CD's, and anxiously wait every Christmas for their copy. I usually put a tribute at the end of the recording, babbling stuff about the actors and singers to make the kids laugh and enjoy the "show". This year, I was pressed for time, so I decided to begin the recording process by myself. I grabbed the microphone and was transported in time to an era in my life, of pigtails, bobby socks and Mary Janes. I was a star again! The song was "Silent Night! Holy Night!" - and it was way out of my vocal range. But I gave it my best.

I play a little game with my kitty cat, Lolita. To get her to come to me, I'll whine and cry at a high pitch, to which she'll come running through the house, come straight to my face, concerned and worried that something's wrong. During my rendition of "Silent Night", as I rounded "the yon virgin" and ended the first verse, Lolita comes galloping through the house. She jumped on the computer table, and got right in my face. She had that "Oh no, something's wrong with Mommy" look. She started sniffing my face, and even though I would try to ward her off, her concern would not let me continue the song. It didn't dawn on me right away that my singing sounded like the whiny-crying game that she and I play. After about four attempts at recording, I finally gave up and took Lolita to the room where Kevin was hiding, I mean, hanging out. We laughed about it, and I sheepishly went back to recording, humbled once again, remembering what I had written about a few weeks ago but conveniently forgotten.

I guess I continue to hold on to that dream that I will one day sing and everyone will listen in wonder and awe at my talent. But Lolita reminded me that even after 26 years, the time has not come. I think I'll go and play the piano for a while...