I Sing For Myself

         When I graduated from high school, I also graduated out of the church's teen choir. If you wanted to keep singing, you had to audition for a part. No one was ever turned away, but you had to be assigned to the right section. I was 18, it was summer, and I didn't have a car, or a driver's license for that matter.

         Somehow, I got downtown to the church to sing for the director who had known me since I was about six. He determined I would sing second soprano. He told me my voice was pleasant enough, but it was not outstanding, and I was not solo material. I was a little deflated, but I liked him otherwise, and quickly forgave him for being honest with me.

         I had to walk home that hot summer day. I remember exactly what I was wearing: a starched white, cap-sleeved blouse, and madras culottes. I remember those culottes because I had made them myself. I was proud of them because the seams were painstakingly matched to provide a perfect plaid. I remember walking down the street, cars and pedestrians buzzing all about me, sweat beading on my forehead. Suddenly, near the old historic oak tree, I told myself, "I don't care. I like to sing and I'm going to sing whether anyone likes it or not. And no ne is going to stop me!" (It wasn't out loud, but I'm sure it was underlined with an exclamation point.) I wasn't angry, just determined.

         I wish I had been that determined and unmovable in other areas of my life, but unfortunately, I was not. Later, after college, I played guitar, mostly John Denver and Carole King type songs. My friends, work buddies, would tell me to bring my guitar to their house or party, so I did without hesitation. I had a really big group of people walk out of a house to keep from listening to me. Do you think that stopped me? Oh, no. I had two or three faithful fans who begged me not to stop. I was so gullible that I kept playing and singing.

         I don't play guitar any longer. I couldn't if I tried because my fingertips aren't calloused now. Two songs and I'm in pain. I've forgotten all the chords anyway. I still sing at the drop of a hat, although I'm losing my voice. I sound like an old lady croaking along. Does that stop me? If you don't like what you hear, that's not my problem.