Wednesday, January 04, 2006

 

Takin' It Back


When I was a smallperson, my parents were folk singers.

They still are, actually, and have performed in public close to 300 times. The last time that the Vancouver Folk Festival was held indoors, they were the opening act at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre.

They were good. They're still pretty good but you know, they're over 70 and even my idol, Johnny Cash, got a little wobbly towards the end. (And it's likely small of me to even mention it but in my stunted and bitter soul it felt good to type that so I'll let it stand.)

I was a very shy child. I am still very shy, despite the repeated outbursts of "motherfucker" and such. Anyone who knows me well knows that doing anything in public fills me with dread. I have no idea how I used to be able to act, and to do standup comedy. Clearly the drugs were more effective back then or something, or I spent a little more time than usual floating down De Nial.

Anyhow, back to the smallperson. She was shy, but she had a lovely clear singing voice. And this was discovered by the performing parents.

And the parents, who thrived on performing in public decided that the smallperson should do so also, as this gift clearly came from them and was theirs to use as they pleased.

And so she did. Despite feeling sick, and hating it, and sweating and wondering if she would vomit and feeling completely violated, the smallperson sang the songs chosen by her parents on the occasions dictated by them.

And then the smallperson got stubborn, and refused to do it any more. And she went silent for about ten years, even though singing was one of the biggest joys in her life. She didn't even sing for herself or her cat most of the time, just in case someone heard her.

She sang, voluntarily, at her grandmother's wake, and at her Auntie Christine's funeral, and on a few other occasions. She then went silent again for another ten or more years.

And for ten years after that, she sang occasionally for her husband, who adores her voice, and for her daughter, who half the time loves her and half the time asks her to shut up. *g* She sang in the car and for the cats and she loved how it made her whole body feel alive to do so.

And then she thought about Mr. Lincoln. You know, that guy who thought it was wrong to own another human being. That guy who set all of those folks free.

And she thought, "You know, I think he meant me, too."

Yes. Me too.

And then she thought that her parents should fuck off, and that her voice belonged to her, and if it made her feel so joyous and whole to sing, that perhaps she should do it a little. Just now and again. Maybe only to the cats. Or in the shower or in the car and stuff.

And she decided to give herself permission to do so.

And so this will be The Year of the Singing Rabbitch.

Brace yourselves, babies, I'm not that good, but it's going to take a lot to shut me up.

Comments:
Sing loud. Sing often. And have a great time doin' it.
 
It warms my heart to be out driving and notice that the person in the next car is in full out singing mode.

And cats need to hear singing. Particularly your own favorite songs that have been modified on the fly to be about the cats.
 
Good. Positive. Growth. Enjoyment. Pleasure for Others.

Assert. Relaim. Come Into Your Own. Celebrate Wholeness.

Finally.
 
A good voice, hushed up, is a terrible waste. Delighted to hear you will be letting it out.
 
I'm so glad you've reclaimed your voice.
 
are you going to sing your posts?

;)
 
Sing - sing a song.
Make it simple to last the whole day long.
Don't worry if it's not good enough for anybody else to hear.
Sing - sing a song.

I adore you.
 
Yes! Absolutely you should sing. I do in the shower all the time. Good fun. And if it makes you feel joyful, all the better!
 
O, Rabbitch, sing ON, chica. and while you're at it, email me your shoe size... ya never know...
 
Singing's good for you... it releases endorphines in the brain. :)
 
Audio posts, YES.
 
In fact, AMEN.
 
Good for you! Keep on singing.
 
We could duet, since I, too, sing...
 
I used to sing to my cats. Loved it. Until the day that my beloved Emaa bit me on the nose. Thus ended my singing career.
 
Let that music out. Feels incredible, doesn't it? Promise me you'll belt out Bohemian Rhapsody at least once, even it it's by yourself in the car.
 
Good on ya, mate!! :)
 
Wow! Are we twins? I'll sing if you will.
 
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