I Can't Sing

I can't sing.  No, really, I can't.  I have a terrible sense of pitch, and absolutely no confidence.  Recently, I was told by a well-meaning lady that I was being silly; that everyone can sing if they try hard enough.  "Happy Feet" popped immediately into my head.  You know, where the baby penguin in the land of musical theater opens his mouth during a lesson and a rough screech comes out.  The baby penguin was alright in the end, though, as he found another talent that served him well.  The interesting thing is that I know that I can't sing.  I recognize it, so I'll never find myself berated on American Idol.  You may be shaking your head right now and thinking it can't be that bad.  Well, it is.  I used to play the harp, and during the audition process for a conservatory, I had to sing "Happy Birthday" to test my sense of pitch.  The bored grad student giving me the test laughed at me.  That didn't matter too much for my audition, because, as it turned out, harpists are notoriously bad at "hearing" proper pitches.  Something about having to individually tune each of the 47 strings, which results in the harp always being just slightly out of tune.  But, even my own mother looks shocked sometimes at what comes out of my mouth.  The other day I was singing "Five Little Skunks" to Big Brother Badger.  I looked over, and Grandma looked horrified.  She's a huge fan of musicals, and I think my voice had just pummeled both the Jets AND the Sharks.  Snap.

In everyday life, I usually don't think about this too much.  I'll sort of hum along to the radio, I'll fake my way through "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and "You are my Sunshine" for Baby River Badger, and I'll put so much enthusiasm into a round of "Happy Birthday" that no one will fault me for it.  However, this time of year, at the holidays, my lack of singing talent stings me a little.

The holidays are a time for singing.  Christmas tunes on the radio, family carols around the tree.  Even the Little River Badgers will participate in a school concert.  My favorite Christmas song is "O Holy Night".  This is not a song for a poor singer; it is a powerhouse ballad that can showcase a fabulous voice.  But it is so beautiful, I almost can't help myself.  I'll turn it up really loudly on the radio to hide my following along.  In high school, I had several harp gigs where I would accompany a talented soprano singing this song.  I threw my heart into playing, because I sure as heck wasn't ever going to be able to sing it.  And it hurt a little, each time.

If you were to put me on the spot and ask me what I'm jealous of, I would say my little sister's hair and the fact that I can't sing.  I can't put a name on the last one because it feels like everyone else can at least carry a tune.  I worry about what this means for the Little Badgers.  Even if they have some singing talent, am I ruining their nascent pitch with my bad voice?  Will they avoid singing because they perceive my lack of comfort with it?

So far, they seem to be happy to sing.  I'll hear the Boy Badgers singing together at bedtime, while watching Thomas, and in the bath.  My Baby smiles and signs along when she hears her favorite tune, "Itsy Bitsy Spider".  Big Brother Badger can do a fair interpretation of Alicia Keys' "Girl on Fire" (except he says "Boy").  Maybe my lack of ability has prevented any overt pressure on them to have talent at singing, so they just associate it with fun.  And my own struggle with singing may end up providing a teachable moment for them later on.  In eighth grade, it was my dream to play Dorothy in our middle school's production of 'The Wizard of Oz".  I lost the part because, as Sister John Marie put it, "Dear, you can't sing.".  So I channeled my energies in a different direction and played the best darn Wicked Witch ever seen.  I got a standing ovation.  "Happy Feet", indeed.