There are a lot of things I can’t do. Of those things, the one I regret the most is that I can’t sing. Yes, I realize it should be that I can’t do math, but here we are. When I say I can’t sing, I really cannot emphasize how bad my singing voice truly is. It is the worst. Forest creatures run for cover.
I bring this up because is there a more joyous activity in the world than singing? I think not. I love to sing along with my favorite songs. It always brightens my mood. I can’t even imagine how amazing it would be if I had one ounce of talent. Talk about life-changing! There are times when I am singing alone, I actually make myself cringe. I soldier on.
In college, I attended an Indigo Girls concert with a few friends. It was a fantastic show. They are still one of my favorite bands. I found myself singing along to every song and living my best life. After the show, I commented on how much I loved their music and singing along. One of my friends said, “Oh, we know!” in a very snarky manner. I almost cried. It’s not like I thought I could sing, but I didn’t need the judgement. This person also happened to be a musician and had a great deal of talent. Good for him, but who the hell was I hurting singing along to Closer to Fine?
This comment has stuck with me for more than two decades and still hurts my feelings. It also curbed my zeal for singing for a while. You know what? Fuck him. We should all just be allowed to sing. Being good should not be a requirement—unless you are getting paid for it.
This brings me to another singing trauma. I was in third or fourth grade when it was announced there would be a talent show. At this point, I was blissfully unaware of how bad my voice really was. I immediately signed up to sing in this competition. God, to this day I still don’t know what I was thinking, and I have pondered it at great length.
I started going through my collection of 45 records and eight-track tapes to find the perfect selection. I settled on Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler. If you are thinking this is an interesting choice for a 10-year-old, you would be correct. I laugh when I think about it. I practiced feverishly for a couple of weeks. The night of the talent show came, and I’m here to tell you, I sang my little heart out. Kenny never put as much energy and passion into The Gambler as I did on that Jefferson Elementary stage.
I think it was about halfway through the song when I realized this rendition of the country classic might not sound so hot. I finished strong. However, I knew at that moment, I was a bad singer. I still do not regret my effort.
Do you know who the real hero here is? My mom. That poor woman listened to me rehearse for days and was never anything but encouraging. She let me get up on stage and live my dream when she could have just as easily said, “Honey, do you think you could learn to juggle instead?” I was horrible. Mom knew I was horrible. Even so, she led that sparsely-filled gymnasium in, what I perceived to be, a round of thunderous applause. I believe I may have bowed. I knew I would never do that again, but I held my head high.
My friend’s mean comment after the Indigo Girls concert still haunts me, but I have resumed singing. I credit Air Supply for my return to singing in public. I have seen them six times with my family. I remember the first time we saw them. My sister posted a video on Facebook of the four of us singing along to one of our favorites. We were front row center. We were happy and loud. Yes, we all sounded terrible, but we were radiant. Why would you not choose to have that feeling? It is amazing!
Life’s short, y’all. Music is a gift. It should not be only for the talented. That would be some horse shit. Crank up your favorite song and sing as loud as you can. Go see your favorite band and belt out every damn word of every song. Feel the music to your core. Joy does not require talent.
Angela Traver
What is this blog about? Well, it's a general blog, but it is also a very specific blog. If you get that reference, you get a gold star! I have been a public relations professional and writer of press releases for more than 20 years—primarily in the booze biz. I decided to do some writing for fun and embrace the humor that gets me through most days. Hopefully it will make you chuckle—or at least smile. I’m a certified crazy magnet, and more than a little nutty myself, so buckle up. Also, I have two vices—profanity and red wine/whiskey. You’ve been warned. It should also be noted, that I’m a HUGE Bob & Sheri fan. I’ve been a listener for more than 20 years. This opportunity is a dream come true and it may have made me cry. That being said, I cry at everything. If you are into booze, dogs, food and/or knitting, hit me up on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter (although I’m terrible at Twitter and it scares me) @kyspiritsgal. You can also find all my previous blog posts at www.kyspiritsgal.com.
