Be honest...how many of you, at one time or another, have sung into a hairbrush or some similar object and pretended it was a microphone as you stared at your reflection in the mirror and pictured yourself as the next platinum-selling recording artist?
I can't count the number of times I've done it - sometimes even complete with choreography.
Ever since I was very young, when the only song I knew at the time was “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” I have longed to be a singer, and have imagined myself winning every talent show from Ted Mack's Original Amateur Hour to Star Search, American Idol and America's Got Talent.
The only problem was whenever I attempted to belt out a tune, especially when the windows were open, my neighbors who had outdoor cats thought one of them was being tortured...by a coyote.
I blame my mother for my lack of dulcet tones whenever I sing, because I inherited her voice. She never denied that she probably was the world’s worst singer. In fact, she used to joke that she could sing an entire song and not hit even one note correctly. And back when she was in grade school and the class had to sing during events such as Christmas pageants, her teachers would tell her to lip-sync and just pretend to be singing,
Believe it or not, when I was young, my mother often used her singing as a form of punishment.
“Time for bed now,” she would say to me.
“But I’m not tired!” I’d whine. “I don’t want to go to bed!”
“If you don’t go to bed right now, I’ll sing to you for the next 20 minutes,” she’d threaten.
At that point, I would do a running swan-dive into my bed.
I have to confess, however, that unlike my mother, I’ve always been in denial about my own singing ability (or lack thereof). I actually managed to convince myself I was destined to be the next Streisand. But in reality, if I were facing a firing squad and they told me if I sang for them and it pleased them, I’d be granted a stay of execution, the moment I opened my mouth and released the first note, they'd shoot me full of holes just to shut me up.
And I’m pretty sure it would be considered self-defense.
Still, I never gave up my dream of becoming a famous singer. When I was 15, I even saved up for a guitar, learned how to play a few chords on it and then formed a three-girl band called The Triple Gears. Whenever we gathered in my tenement building's basement to rehearse, my parents would receive phone calls from the tenants on the second floor, asking if someone needed help.
Needless to say, The Triple Gears never were asked to entertain anywhere.
I did study ballet for 10 years and discovered I was a fairly talented dancer. I even performed in a local production of Swan Lake. So when a talent show with excellent prizes was holding auditions in town, I announced to my parents that I wanted to try out for it.
“That’s great!” my mother said, looking genuinely pleased. “Have you decided yet which dance you’re going to do?”
I frowned at her. “Dance? I’m going to sing!”
Her expression clearly told me she thought I'd been out in the sun too long that morning.
Luckily, I wasn’t brave enough to try out for the talent show alone, so I asked my friend, Dee, who happened to be an excellent singer, to come with me. We ended up singing a Beatles song together, and her melodious voice drowned out my flat one, so we actually made it into the talent show. When I came home and excitedly announced the good news to my parents, they thought I was joking.
“Were the judges…really elderly?” my mother asked.
“And hearing impaired?” my dad added.
“No! Dee and I honestly sounded great!”
“Dee sang with you?” my mom asked.
I nodded.
“Oh, then that explains it,” my parents said in unison.
Dee and I had fun participating in the talent show, but we didn’t win. We didn’t even place in the top ten. In retrospect, I think if I had just moved my lips and let Dee do all of the singing, we might have stood a fighting chance.
And then there was the time in high school when Mr. Dobe, who taught Spanish, actually thought it would be a good idea for my class to go sing Christmas carols (in Spanish, no less) at area nursing homes and senior-care facilities one December weekend.
While some of the students, especially the guys, muttered and complained, I was all for the idea. I belted out "Noche de Paz" (Silent Night) and "Campanas de Navidad" (Jingle Bells) with gusto in my loudest (and flattest) voice everywhere we sang. When I noticed that most of the eyes in the audience were turned directly toward me, I was flattered, thinking my moment to shine finally had arrived. So I sang even louder.
At our last stop on our Christmas-caroling tour, after we took our bows, one of the elderly residents approached me and handed me a box of chocolates. "These are for you, dear," she said.
I felt as if I'd just won a Grammy Award (pun intended). I mean, out of all of the kids in our caroling group, she had singled me out for the gift! Such an honor!
The woman, mistakenly thinking we were a group of foreigners because we'd sung only in Spanish, then leaned over and in a hushed voice said to me, "If you've come here to this country hoping to make a living as a singer...I fear you're going to starve to death. So enjoy the chocolates."
I was mercilessly teased about it for ages.
Nowadays, the only time I sing is when I’m in the car. I crank up the radio and happily sing along with my favorite songs.
And when I hear myself, I’m still convinced I could be the next Streisand.
I just wish that when I take my two dogs for a ride with me, they’d stop whining and pawing at their ears while I'm singing.
It can be very distracting.
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Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
