My time in choir

We didn't have kindergarten when I was a kid.   Parents took the 5 year olds to class to visit.   They left them there to get used to school for a day, and each child was assigned to an older child.

I got to go to school for the first time that way.  I followed a neighbor kid around and sat next to her whatever she was doing.


One of the things that she got to do was sing in music class.  They were practicing for a choir assembly and had the children in rows by voice.  I loved to sing.  Oh gosh I loved to sing.  I stood there in front of the line next to her and sang with her with all my heart.

The music teacher stopped the class and said.   "Someone in the front row is really off key.  It sounds like a frog croaking." I looked around horrified.  Who could that be?  My older friend, whispered in my ear.  "Just pretend to sing, cause you aren't in school yet. "


"Oh okay, but you better find the froggie throat before the song gets ruined."  I whispered back. rather oblivious to who it was.


Fast forward to first grade,  Music class.   The teacher comes up to me and says.  "You are not hitting the right notes, you have to go higher."

'I can't go any higher." I told her.


She comes over and pulls my hair up till I squeak in pain.    "Oh yes you can."  she said.  I cried.

Singing is painful.

In third grade I am put in the bass section with the pudgy boy and the freckled one that smelled of horses.  I had to stand near them,  It was humiliating.   The principal moved me back in with the girls, told me to mouth the words, he said it wasn't proper and that the teacher needed to learn a little ... compassion.


Fourth grade. we all had to participate in choir competitions at the local high school.   Consolidated elementary schools from all over came to compete.  Notes were sent home.   White shirt. Black skirt.  Black shoes for the girls.  Mandatory.   Well my mom had no money, and no resources to go get things from a used clothing store. I had one pair of saddle shoes, black and white. and that was it.   My mother took the shoes and tried to paint them with some sort of bootblacking.  They came out a battleship gray.  The closest thing she had to a black skirt was a green jumper.  with a bib on top.   She sent me to school in that get up.

Oh the class was horrified.  I begged to stay home. I begged to not sing.  I really didn't want to go on a bus to a competition and sing in front of all those people.  it was going to be broadcast live on the radio.  I was numb.


I couldn't get out of it.  Teachers were appalled, but some were cool about it.  We went. I stood out like a fly on rice.  We lost.  Some of the girls said it was my fault.

I still love to sing. but I hate green jumpers.