hidden talents

note children playing... singing in background.. young girl has a marked effect on the people who cross her path.. they are changed by her.. she doesnt notice and wants more than anything to be good at something.  she wishes on a loose eyelash, upon a star, a wishbone,  a wishing well,  birthday candles, dandelion seedhead,

This old man, he played one
He played knick-knack on my thumb
With a knick-knack paddywhack, give a dog a bone
This old man came rolling home

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, sucks in all the air she can, makes her wish.. and blows with all her might. The loose eyelash floating gently on the breeze, with just a little help.  The child wants more than anything to be good at something.. to have some talent that sets her apart from all the others.  Something that makes her special.  She wishes for a beautiful singing voice, one like that pretty little girl on PBS, who's angelic voice filled her living room last night. 

She runs to join her friends in singing..

This old man, he played two,
He played knick-knack on my shoe;
Knick-knack paddywhack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

But she can tell by their faces.. her singing is off.  Children can be too honest, sometimes.  And she leaves them to their singing.  Head down, she runs and hides in the cement tunnels at the end of the playground.  Holding back the tears stinging her eyes.  Stifling her own sniffles, she hears an echo.  Someone weeping.. in one of the other tunnels.  Crawling quietly to the opening.. she peeps around the corner and sees another little girl, tears streaming from her eyes.

Without a word, Sara sits next to the girl, reaches into her pocket and brings out the sparkly pony sticker she just got from Mrs. Spence.  The little girl blinks back her tears, and quietly peeks at the sticker.  Sara smiles, and gives it to her.

<<ROUGH DRAFT>>
The recess bell rings.

On her way home from school that day, Sara...

She plops down in her neighbor's front yard, lying back, looking up at the clearest blue sky.  A lone airplane jets across the sky leaving its trail of clouds.  Sara glances around for the most perfect dandelion tuft, smiles, and plucks it.  Squeezes her eyes shut tight.. sucks in as much air as she can.. makes her wish.. and blows with all her might.  The seeds waft gently in the breeze.  It would be so cool if she could fly. 

She spends the next few minutes daydreaming about all the things she would do, if only she could fly.  Eyes closed.  Then, slowly opens one eye.. she feels she isn't alone.  Sure enough, two intensely blue eyes are staring down at her, just inches from her face.  Both eyes wide, Sara rolls over and stands up.  It's the little girl from the tunnel.. and she isn't alone.

'Whatcha doin'?'  asks the little girl

'Making a wish.'

'Whatcha wishin for?'

'I cant tell you.  It wont come true.'

'Oh.'

The little girl looks down at her shoes.

'This is my brother.. his names Jason.  Im Kasey.'

Jason pushes his sister out of the way .. 'I CAN TELL HER MY NAME!'

'I'm Sara' she smiles and turns toward her house.  'C'mon.'

She climbs the steps of her front porch and pulls herself up onto the brick ledge.. about 4 feet from the ground.   Smiling gaily, she tells them.. 'I can fly.'  In a flash, the small boy is on the porch next to her.  'I CAN TOO!' he takes her hand.. and they jump.

They fall with a thud.  Sara sits a moment, a frown forming.  Jason is up ready to go again.

'AGAIN!  AGAIN!'
'COME ON, KASEY!'

This time all three jump.  Gleeful peals of laughter bursting from each of them.  They jump until they cant jump anymore.. til its time for her new friends to go home. 

They get halfway across the street, when Jason comes running back.  He reaches deep in his pocket and pulls out a shiny rock.  'HERE,  IT'S MY AGATE.. YOU CAN HAVE IT.'  he says in his loud serious voice, and hugs her quickly.. then runs to catch his sister.

***

The next day, Mrs. Spence calls Sara to take part in a mentoring program, to help tutor younger children.  She is set up with a little boy in first grade, who wont speak.  It's Jason.  In school, he whispers to her.. she coaxes him to speak.. helps him with his schoolwork.. this leads to something!!



 

     

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.

ask me

dont ask me my opinion.  i have one.  i just usually wont share it.  i will make a joke.. think long and hard about what you are asking.. and then take a tentative step forward.  stick my neck out only a little.  then i may just retract.  i dunno <see there i go again.. i DO know.  inside my head, when you ask my opinion, i do not hear that you are asking me because what i think matters.. i doubt.
i doubt that my point is relevant. 

i hear my ma's voice again.  'dont worry about what other people think, it doesnt matter'.  she is right.

but.

i know a lot of indecisive people.  i can be at times.  for instance,  ask me where i want to go for dinner.. if there are other people involved, i will leave it up to them..

if it's a date.. i make the plans, no hesitation. 

do i lack in confidence?  always questioning myself.. no im confident.  hm..  i do believe in myself.. interesting to note.  i believe in myself, just doubt my voice.  but i am a singer.  i use my voice every day.. confidently.  i teach.  that takes confidence.. right?  this theme of self doubt has so many layers.  what about humbleness.  the more i think about it.. to be humble is a bunch of bull.  it has stifled me.  rosie is right, my writing is riddled with self doubt, second guessing, uncertainty..  because though i have a voice.. i have yet to hear it, uncover it for myself.  im not quiet enough inside my head.  i dont listen to myself.     

i find it terribly annoying when someone else exibits self-doubt.  how dare they!  i asked what they thought for a reason!!  dont hold back on me.  apparently, thats my job.  well that just sucks.  it all comes back to self worth..  i am worthy.  i think.

ask me my opinion.  i will try very hard to share it.  i will try not to make a wisecrack.  and i will say the first thing that comes to mind.  no retractions.

deal?

self doubt is my second skin.

Fear and distrust are survival instincts.  I am wary of motives and suspicious of looks.  I had to be in order to survive an early abusive chaotic environment.  I had to duck and hide, watch and be wary.  I still duck when there is no blow and wince when no slight is intended.  To excel is to invite notice and I prefer to stay hidden away and safe.


I swim in self doubt.  I drown in it.  I cover myself at night with recriminations for blankets.  It's in my DNA now because it entered so early.  My self was fractured and burnt as a toddler.  My self was derided and devalued through elementary school.


Ah, but I was a fighter.  I worked on building my own foundation.  I dug my own trench.  Poured my own concrete in.  I built my Self up bit by bit.  I refused to go down.  I had faith in myself.

I hugged the few kind words that came my way to my heart and fought my way up and out.  I have a glued together Soul,  with cracks and missing pieces and hard scars that won't bend.  But it is a serviceable one.

Light spills through the cracks.  Missing pieces allow me to fit others in.  And the Scars, they give me the strong will and force of character to do hard things, to handle hard choices and not be broken down when I have to nurture abused and needy children.

I am hard when I have to be hard, and soft when I need to be soft.  and hesitant avoiding danger where none exists. and brave and fierce when me or mine is threatened.

I sweep doubt away daily, like the pesky voice that it is.