My Singing Career
by
Virginia Johnson
"Sandra, time to get up." My mother's call wafted up the stairs. I leapt to the floor, carelessly jolting my little sister still slumbering beside me. Still in my pyjamas, I raced down the narrow stairs into the kitchen.
"When are we leaving?" I asked breathlessly. Today was the day I had been waiting for. Our little one-room country school was going to the Music Festival in Virden. Everyone was included in the choir, even the little Grade One's like me. Every day for the past month we had practised for an hour.
Time after time I would come home and perform our two festival songs for my parents, my sister, my dog, in fact any farm animal I could get close enough to. I would then run next door to my grandparents and repeat the soft whispery notes of "All Through the Night", followed by a loud boisterous rendition of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." My audience was most appreciative. Now the big day had finally arrived and I was anxious to get going.
"Be patient," my mother reminded me. "Your dad is still out doing morning chores. Sit down and eat your breakfast."
After I had hastily gulped my breakfast of oatmeal porridge and orange juice, my mother cornered me for the morning ritual of hair braiding. Daily she brushed the tangles out of my thick mat of red hair and carefully plaited it into two long braids. I fidgeted as she tied the ends carefully with two navy blue bows and released me to get dressed. Dressing in my new choir uniform was left to the last minute as she didn't want to take the chance that her active little girl would spill on her crisp, white blouse or, in her haste, tear the navy blue full skirt.
Finally it was time to leave and the four of us, my mom, my dad and my five-year-old sister piled into the cab of our pick-up truck. The twenty-five-mile trip to the festival site seemed endless to me, but eventually we pulled up in front of the great stone church and waited until all fifteen members of our school arrived. When everyone had appeared, our young, five-year teacher, Miss Rosen, organized us in a line and shepherded us into a front pew to await our turn on the program.
I looked around nervously. The church was packed with anxious teachers, excited, chatting children, and proud parents. Spotting my sister and parents, I waved vigorously. Then, on a signal from my mother, I turned my attention to the front.
Butter-yellow daffodils and bright red tulips guarded the risers before us. Their fresh aroma filled the church. Soon a well-dressed lady rose from her seat at a small table near the altar. A tinkle from the tiny gold bell in her hand was enough to quiet the room. She announced that the next category of choirs would be "One-Room Country Schools." The first choir to be heard would be Paradin School. That was our school.
As we marched to the risers set up at the front, my stomach fluttered nervously, but I held my head up and smiled as our teacher had directed.
I have very little memory of the actual performance other than that I stood in the very middle of the front row and sang with all my heart. As the last note died, we girls curtsied and the boys bowed. Our teacher led us back to the pews, amidst what sounded to me like thunderous applause.
Now the wait, while other lines of students marched to the front and sang their songs, some timid and apprehensive, others as well rehearsed as we were. This too is a blur in my memory. What I do vividly remember was the lady with the bell standing and announcing that the trophy for the class had been awarded to Paradin School. That school would be travelling to Brandon in two weeks' time to participate in their music festival. I really wasn't surprised. Of course we were the best. In my six-year-old mind we were unbeatable.
The story isn't over yet. I was now eagerly looking forward to the Brandon trip. I couldn't wait for Miss Rosen to explain the details the next day. She told us how proud she was and how everyone had done so well, but unfortunately she could not take all of us to Brandon. Only ten students would be making the trip. Well, I could understand that. We needed our best singers for this big festival. Who would go and who would be left behind? I silently pondered the dilemma. My seat mate and friend, Arlene, would go. She had sung two solos in the Christmas Concert even though she was only six like me. I was quite sure Tom would not go. He was so shy he wouldn't even look at anyone. Emily was always away. She was an older grade eight student who often had to stay home to help her mom with a baby sister. She wouldn't be picked. Now, who else? Miss Rosen would never take Alfred. He swore and sometimes used words on the playground that I did not understand. I knew they were bad because she would have to wash his mouth out with soap. Maybe Carl couldn't go. It was seeding time and he was probably needed back on the farm. Now one more. I was sure Doug wouldn't be chosen. He didn't even know the words. He just moved his lips and anyone could tell he wasn't really singing.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher's voice. "I am very sorry that I will not be able to take Tom, Emily, Carl, Alfred and Sandra."
Sandra! I couldn't believe what she was saying. Doug who did not even know the words to the songs was going and I was not. I tried to hold back the tears and put on a brave front, although I must admit that a few slipped through. As soon as I arrived home, the dam burst and I was crying in earnest. My mother consoled me saying, "Miss Rosen couldn't take all her choir and you are the youngest member."
Did I remain unscathed by this experience? Well, I continued to have a zest for learning. I loved school and respected this teacher at least until later when as an adult, I learned she had told my mother I was left behind because I was a monotone. To this day I know that was not true. I was just an ardent little child singing loudly and, I now realize, off-key.
The experience did change me. I still loved to perform, but not to sing. I have not sung aloud since. Watch me at a sing-a-long or in church. At first you will think I am eagerly singing with the crowd. If you watch closely you will realize no sounds escape my lips.
