Sing
when I was a young boy
I liked to sing
used to do it a lot
around the house
on my way to school
with my dad when we went fishing
with my sisters when they got old enough
we would sing bits of songs off the radio
sing along with records of my mother
Mario Lanza
drink drink drink
each trying to out sing the other
hey there
you with the stars in your eyes
that would become
hey there
you with sausages in your eyes
don’t fry my heart
it always broke us up
hey there
you with the bananas in your eyes
don’t monkey with my heart
hey there
you with the beans in your ears
can’t you hear I love you
the children’s choir at church
was looking for new members
my mom suggested
it would be great opportunity
I could learn to sing for real
learn how to carry a tune
instead of burying it under volume
a bunch kids at the church hall
were lined up according to height
mostly girls and some boys
mostly around my age 10 to 12
we where given a song sheet
words between dangling fangs of music
I didn’t know notes rests
we where told
just worry about the words
a woman played a few notes on the piano
we started in with a din
a few tries and we worked through it
then girls only boys only
individually
some got a nod from her
yes you’ll do fine
my turn she played a few notes
I started
no no no this note
finally she gave up
thank you but you really can’t …
blood rushed to my face ears
the other kids gawked at me
I ran out ran home
told my mother
I never wanted to sing
never ever ever
and really haven’t
except for the occasional
hey there
you with the fingers in your ears
Hey there, it’s a bonus – a piece that didn’t make the chapbook for space reasons 🙂 This is a mostly true incident with some poetic licence. My mother was a big Mario Lanza fan, we did sing along to his albums. Hey There was a big hit for someone – I thought it was Perry Como but maybe it was Frank Sinatra. The way we would fit our own objects into your eyes happened every time we sang it but I doubt if we were ever as inventive as I make out here.
My mother would rarely join into our vocal gymnastics but Dad always did. I can recall when he took us kids for Sunday drives we would sing ‘Yellow Submarine’ (for some reason) endlessly. The drives were probably to get us out for under our mother’s feet for a couple of hours because she rarely came with us.
I did go to Sunday school and that’s where this ‘audition’ was announced. We were to come on a night during the week. It was clear who the ‘conductor’ wanted to audition as she named off some kids she wanted to make sure would show up. But I went anyway. I told my mother about it & she said something about carrying tune.
The audition was not as organized as I make it here. The kids who had been given the nod earlier knew somethings about music already like rests & stops. They might have been her piano students already. Budding prodigies. ‘dangling fangs’ is clearly the poets image not the little boy. I just though they look scary & incomprehensible. Each of us did get a solo opportunity and that was the worse part. All I remember was being too nervous to get any volume. My departure from the audition wasn’t quite so dramatic. Several off us were given the boot.
I told my mother they had enough boys so I didn’t get picked. We didn’t continue to sing Yellow Submarine on our drives. I did not choose to become a professional singer 🙂
previous Brown Betty posts:
Man With A Past 1 https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3B3
When I Was A Young Boy https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3By
Home (not of the brave) https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3Cg
Nailed https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3D9
Dad’s Pockets https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3E0
Unmasked https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3EE
The Colliery https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3HG
The Past Catches Up https://wp.me/p1RtxU-3Ip
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