I have always admired gifted singers. My gift is the awareness that I cannot carry a tune in a bucket. This knowledge dates back to elementary school at St. John the Evangelist. Even a swift elbow from Father O’Shea coupled with the command to SING could not inspire a note out of me instead I informed the Lord’s servant, “God appreciates if I don’t.” Boy did that Irishman turn red!
When singers belt it out before an audience I wonder if they enter a world all to themselves, because I know a few incredibly shy individuals that sing. Regardless if they feel isolated or totally exposed, it requires an expansion of one’s comfort zone to get to that place. This act for some is thoughtless while others it is earth shattering. Back at St. John I volunteered to read my essay I did not write the prior night; there I stood before the class holding a blank sheet of paper spinning an outer space yarn. When I handed my phantom assignment to the nun the look on her face made me smile and that rye grin earned me a visit to the principal’s office. Conversely, my Dad past out ice cold in front of his elementary school when it was time for him to recite a poem at their Christmas pageant.
Living life with limited boundaries is no life at all. I think my eagerness for new experiences goes back to the dining room table where my parents always encouraged me to taste new foods. I was an obliging son except the supper when Mrs. Landers, our next door neighbor, sent over a bowl of homemade creamed corn. There was something about the consistency when the corn was served on my plate I knew would be objectionable going down my gullet. My father noticed I had not tasted our neighbor’s generous contribution to the meal and told me to stand up beside him as he raised a spoonful to my mouth. Before accepting the bite I begged for a reprieve and promised it would make me throw up. I was not a dramatic child; my oldest sister held that designation and that is something he should have considered before completing the spoon’s journey. I kept my promise all over his plate. Later years I developed a taste for creamed corn even out of a can.
Carey and I have six children and the majority are closer related to the comfort zone of my father’s youth. I continuously encourage them to step beyond self imposed boundaries and their metamorphosis has been beautiful.
Time is so precious and passes in a blink of an eye. I have enough regrets and do not want to be on my death bed with a passel of things I wish I had attempted, but did not because of discomfort. Have a great day! dj