Inspirations II

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HEARTSONG

When I first heard my husband sing, I laughed.
I thought he was kidding around. But, no, that was his real voice.
Stephen couldn't quite reach the notes, and for the most part, the tone of
his voice was nasal.

I should know. I had taken voice lessons in high school through which
I was able to garner the top spot in my section at a state-wide singing
competition. Thus, I was a self-appointed expert in singing.
And he stunk. Not only did he sing off-key, but he sang loud. Very
loud. In spite of rolling my eyes and my fingers plugging my ears, he sang
as if the whole world was his audience. Sometimes he substituted words in
songs just to bug me.

For 13 years I made fun of his singing. He sang even louder to spite me.
I, on the other hand, confined my singing mostly to the shower. I
sang with the kind of full vibratto that would make Luciano Pavarotti sound
like a pipsqueak. I sang better without my hearing aids because I could
feel the music soar from the back of my throat into my sinus cavities where
it resonated, and the shower stall provided the perfect mechanism to hear
myself.

A funny thing began to happen though. I started to feel a declining
confidence in my singing ability. I already had a profound hearing loss,
but for some reason, I felt as if my hearing was getting worse. A trip to
the audiologist showed that the remainder of my hearing hadn't diminished
in any way. Perhaps I should've retained a vocal coach throughout my adult
life. The one I had in high school was an older, eccentric woman, a diva
in her day, who was skilled at extracting only the best from her students.
She had made me take an oath before I left for college that in no way
should I ever stop singing. She would be sorely disappointed if she saw me now, saving my voice for a daily hygienic routine.

During the planning of my parents' 50th anniversary, I volunteered to
sing "Ave Maria," the same song that was sung at their wedding. I
practiced for hours on end. The diction, the breathing patterns, all the
techniques I learned had to be perfect. After all, it had been 20 years
since I sang outside the shower.

     One afternoon, being pregnant with our fourth child, I was luxuriating
in a deep nap. All of a sudden, a noise awakened me. Disoriented, I looked at the
digital clock which informed me that it was well past eight at night.
     There it was again. That noise. "...I LOVE YOU, YOU LOVE ME..."
     It was my husband, singing the Barney song to the boys in the bedroom
next to ours. Their high-pitched voices interwove with his boisterous
style of singing. It was a nightly ritual after prayers to sing the Barney
song, then "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Apparently Stephen was putting all three boys to bed for the night. I relaxed, and for the first time I listened -- really listened -- to the man who's love for singing, no matter how awful, did not matter to the boys.
The enthusiasm in their untrained voices matched their father's. I laid
there in the dark with tears in my eyes.

For the first time in my life I realized that music, sculpted in all
forms and fashion, was born in the heart. No amount of voice training can
elicit a song as perfectly as the one that wells up from the heart.
And Stephen's voice, in my expert opinion, never sounded more
beautiful than that night.

I slipped out of bed to join the chorus that was my family. What may
have sounded discordant to the casual observer was, in reality, perfect
harmony of our hearts.

I never complained about Stephen's singing again.
Many people don't realize that deaf people also sing. They feel the
vibrations and use the rhythm of their hearts, and their hands illustrate
the soul of music. It's mesmerizing, watching music flow through the air
with style and grace.

     When I sang at the gala for my parents' 50th anniversary, I threw out
all the rules and regulations that applied to singing. I ignored the
remarks I had penciled in where I was supposed to breathe, where I was
supposed to hold a note and remember the correct diction. That night I
just sang from my heart.
     I think my old voice coach would have approved.

           -- reprinted with kind permission from Jennifer Oliver

Jennifer, 37, and Stephen are having a grand ole time in the heart of
Texas, singing and dancing and playing with their little roommates.

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