I am tone deaf. Actually, I am being kind to myself. If there is anything lower than tone deaf that is what I am. The problem with this is that I LOVE music! I love to sing and hum tunes, even if I’m off key. When I was younger I asked my mom why my music teachers always put me in the back row. She told me it was because I was tall (thanks for not stifling my creativity, mom).
I was in love with musicals. At the age of 5, The Wizard of Oz was the first one I watched. Everyone can blame Judy Garland for me torturing my family with daily, unstructured performances. When I finally got to high school, it was made quite clear that I was not welcome in any choir or theatrical music performance. That’s when I realized that my voice was only entertaining to me. No hard feelings. I didn’t want to publicly humiliate myself. So, I left the music to the pros.
This didn’t stop me from singing my heart out on the road, in the shower, or while doing housework. Nor did it prohibit me from humming tunes with nieces and nephews. I was born to be a singer, not just a professional one. For some reason (most definitely lack of talent) my voice changes from where it comes from (my soul) to where it actually surfaces (out of my mouth).
You can imagine my excitement when I began to sing to Oster the very first day I met him. And I haven’t stopped singing. This is someone who loves to hear me sing at any hour of the day. It doesn’t matter if I forget the words to a song or butcher many notes along the way. When I start singing to him, a big smile reaches from ear to ear. He loves to hear the music play and watch me sing and dance; I’ll be taking advantage of this as long as I can.