I’ve been asked repeatedly throughout my life to refrain from singing.
I ignored that request back when I was 4 or 5, riding in the Dodge Dart with my family, singing “Puff the Magic Dragon” at the top of my lungs. (until my mother snatched off her flip flop and bopped me in the head)
I ignored that request when I forced my parents and their guests to be my audience as I performed my rendition of the “Alice in Wonderland” album in our living room. I could see the “request” in my parent’s eyes, but since we had company, I knew that the request would remain unspoken, and since their friends were way too polite to do anything but smile politely and listen, while praying for the album to end, I had their captive ears.
I ignored that request when driving my children and their friends to the skating rink. I wisely used my time to share amazingly hip rapping skills along with my clear pure voice with all those in the mini-van.
I still love to sing. I’ve finally accepted that others don’t understand my talent and don’t appreciate my selfless efforts to entertain.
I sing along with the radio (even though I rarely know what I’m actually singing about (since it’s a “crunk” station and I’m just cranky) in the car all the time. Songs get stuck in my head and I find my self singing if I’m walking alone and not really paying attention.
I usually shop late at night in the neighborhood Kroger grocery store. The store plays an in-house radio station that plays a lot of music I know.
The last night I shopped there was a real memory lane experience for me. “Africa” by Toto was playing as I walked through the produce section. Coincidentally, the showers over the veggies came on, so I was feeling the African jungle thing and I guess I was moving to the music as I sang with the lead. A cute guy stopped in the aisle and was staring a me. “Whoa”, I thought, “I must be looking pretty good tonight if I’m stopping men in their tracks”.
Dumb jali didn’t consider that her performance might be a little much at midnight in Kroger.
I finished my performance and the guy turned to move on.
“No”, I thought, “Not yet.” I wheeled my cart and followed him, then did my “Boom chick a wah-wah. (You know, like the Axe commercial). I thought it would be funny and a great conversation starter.
It wasn’t my greatest moment.
The guy stammered that he was in a relationship and that he’d better be going.
I guess I just amazed him by making a spectacle of myself.
Some people dance to their own beat. I sing to my own tune.