07:30
Unknown
I am not a singer. No, not at all.
Now, I love music. I love melodious sound. I love deep lyrics. I love single instruments and even symphonies. I love solos. I love choirs. I even listen to Dolly Parton.
I just don't like to hear myself partake in any activity aimed at creating any of the above.
I am blessed with the fact that I realized my musical shortcomings at a very young age. I remember the pained half-smile on my mother's face during an especially hoarse rendition of "Happy Birthday" one year. My dad's dream of managing his sons in a boy band died that day (or at the very least, were altered). In any case, any dreams of having people applaud my musical stylings someday were extinguished long ago.
In time, my psyche healed. It felt good to find out that my horrendous singing was trait inherited by all my siblings. Somehow, I am not even the worst singer; that honor goes to Son #3. Sadly, his confidence in his vocal abilities is barely overcome by our vicious taunts. Nothing clears a room like his sadistic cover of Alicia Keys.
So, I was thoroughly satisfied with a life of musical mediocrity. In church, I worked hard to make friends with the most voracious people; you see, that way, you could sit beside them, and they were almost always sure to sing the loudest. That way, they drowned you out. It worked well.
I remember a misguided choir director back then. The poor guy had the misguided belief that anyone could sing. In search of tenors, he demanded I join. I tried my hardest to dissuade him, I truly did. He didn't listen, and kept trying to get me on the choir. It took one practice.
He actually stepped down shortly afterward. I think my singing shook his faith.
At one point, I decided rap would see me through. That foray ended when a producer told me he didn't even know our group had been performing in English. Whatever.
When I got into youth ministry, my mandate was clear: aid young people in their pursuit of faith. Clearly, with this in mind, I knew I was morally right to never expose these kids to my "praise" music. No way. Torture by ear does nothing for "growing" the numbers.
Lately, I have seen so many ads looking for youth/worship pastors. Why? They tickle me. I have always wondered if I could lip sync, Milli Vanilli style through an audition. After that, a good mix of flamboyant arm waving and face-squeezing would provide some job security. Since the only instrument I play was a bass drum, I knew I really needed to perfect the arm-waving.
Today, I accept my deficiency. Whenever I even hum, the same pained, disapproving glare that is usually on my wife's face is replicated on my daughter's. To assuage my shallow ego, I tend to take a keen interest in American Idol auditions, where I live vicariously through Simon.
And, when I'm all alone, I whisper Dolly Parton songs. Still.
Now, I love music. I love melodious sound. I love deep lyrics. I love single instruments and even symphonies. I love solos. I love choirs. I even listen to Dolly Parton.
I just don't like to hear myself partake in any activity aimed at creating any of the above.
I am blessed with the fact that I realized my musical shortcomings at a very young age. I remember the pained half-smile on my mother's face during an especially hoarse rendition of "Happy Birthday" one year. My dad's dream of managing his sons in a boy band died that day (or at the very least, were altered). In any case, any dreams of having people applaud my musical stylings someday were extinguished long ago.
In time, my psyche healed. It felt good to find out that my horrendous singing was trait inherited by all my siblings. Somehow, I am not even the worst singer; that honor goes to Son #3. Sadly, his confidence in his vocal abilities is barely overcome by our vicious taunts. Nothing clears a room like his sadistic cover of Alicia Keys.
So, I was thoroughly satisfied with a life of musical mediocrity. In church, I worked hard to make friends with the most voracious people; you see, that way, you could sit beside them, and they were almost always sure to sing the loudest. That way, they drowned you out. It worked well.
I remember a misguided choir director back then. The poor guy had the misguided belief that anyone could sing. In search of tenors, he demanded I join. I tried my hardest to dissuade him, I truly did. He didn't listen, and kept trying to get me on the choir. It took one practice.
He actually stepped down shortly afterward. I think my singing shook his faith.
At one point, I decided rap would see me through. That foray ended when a producer told me he didn't even know our group had been performing in English. Whatever.
When I got into youth ministry, my mandate was clear: aid young people in their pursuit of faith. Clearly, with this in mind, I knew I was morally right to never expose these kids to my "praise" music. No way. Torture by ear does nothing for "growing" the numbers.
Lately, I have seen so many ads looking for youth/worship pastors. Why? They tickle me. I have always wondered if I could lip sync, Milli Vanilli style through an audition. After that, a good mix of flamboyant arm waving and face-squeezing would provide some job security. Since the only instrument I play was a bass drum, I knew I really needed to perfect the arm-waving.
Today, I accept my deficiency. Whenever I even hum, the same pained, disapproving glare that is usually on my wife's face is replicated on my daughter's. To assuage my shallow ego, I tend to take a keen interest in American Idol auditions, where I live vicariously through Simon.
And, when I'm all alone, I whisper Dolly Parton songs. Still.
