Everyone has some type of trauma in their life. Some are huge (natural disasters, death, illness), some are menial (Estee Lauder discontinuing your favorite lipstick, forgetting to pick up something at the grocery store, dribbling sweet 'n sour sauce on your new white and green shirt, a la me), and some fall into the moderate category. Not as life-threatening as cancer, but not as simple as having to find a new shade of matte burgundy. Mine is smack-dab in the middle of that category.
A little backstory before we begin...
I am a music person. I love it~singing, playing, listening, critiquing, whatever. It makes me feel alive. My music instructor is a fabulous guy with a wonderful personality and that's where this all gets tricky.
My school is part of a denomination of Christianity that's strict when it comes to fellowship (a.k.a. who gets to participate in what). They're very big on religious unity. But I registered there two years ago under interesting circumstances, I was just happy to be going somewhere different. Hey, I think I told myself. They're Lutheran, I'm Lutheran, what's the biggest difference gonna be? Different Jell-O recipes?
Boy, was I wrong. My branch of Lutheranism is by far the most liberal while theirs is the most conservative. Hello, difference!
My first year at CLS (Conservative Lutheran School), I spent first semester in a daze. It was a totally new enviornment. For one thing, everyone treated everyone else like human beings (more or less). I made friends...Anne, Lyn (a pastor's daughter trying to live up to her older siblings and failing), Caryn (another pastor's daughter with a shy exterior covering up a decent sense of humor), and Dane, the music instructor.
The beginning tremors of my mini-disaster occurred sometime early first semester. It was the day of auditions for an elite (a word I have grown to despise yet covet attached to my name) band and I was lurking around the music room, having a typical conversation with Dane: music, life in general, more music, a bit of snark.
The topic then turned to Distinction Choir, the auditioned group of singers that branched off of the sophmore through senior choir. Every freshman had to be in Freshman Music, which consisted of learning note names, learning rhythms, and threats of detention every twenty minutes, so as of yet I hadn't been too involved with either of the older/better choirs. All I knew is that I wanted to be in Distinction.
That's when the earthquake rolled its' first quiver.
Dane told me, a little tenatively, that I couldn't be in Distinction because while I was Lutheran, I wasn't their brand of Lutheran. Since the choir sang at worship services, letting me in would be violating the specified rules set down by God and, somewhere along the line, the district president. This is when it all gets a little fuzzy, from either time or shock. I remember saying, "Do you see all this control? Would you like to see all this control go out the window?" I remember leaving. I remember going into the ladies' room. I remember throwing my black patent pleather high heels at the wall in anger.
Life moved on from that fateful day. In the back of my mind, there was a small thought of I'm gonna try out and I'll be amazing and they'll beg me to join, regardless of what my acronym is.
This year, the earthquake hit full force.
It was on a Wednesday--the first Wednesday of the school year--that Dane called me into the music room, which was fast becoming my home away from home. On Tuesday, I had asked if I could try out for Distinction Choir and, if I did, "Will you take me seriously?" (I remember this phrase very well. We were both in the office and Caryn was by my side, tsk-tsk-ing about my refusal to let the issue go. She does that a lot when it comes to matters of me.) I was supposed to be having a voice lesson. That never happened.
Dane said that he had talked to the superiors and they decided that I, and anyone else who wasn't part of their branch, wouldn't be allowed to audition for Distinction Choir. We spent close to two hours talking about this and I tried desparately not to cry. It wasn't fair. Everything wasn't fair. He didn't do anything to deserve telling a ravenous tiger that the food shipment had been cancelled.
Auditions came and went. No one in The Reject Pile got in, but most of the population of The Eliters did. I have a theory that this is how they became elite, actually. Musical talent coupled with bubbly personalities. I wasn't the only one that had to deal with this. Elle, a quasi-member of The Eliters and a soprano, did too, which sparked our friendship.
The year passed. Whenever the words "Distinction Choir" were spoken, I would mutter something uncomplimentary (defying the wish that I "keep a Christian attitude"), tense up, and stride away, feeling like I'd been shunned by all. This drove Caryn nuts. Anne, on the other hand, would tell me in no uncertain terms to become one of them or stop complaining.
There were the trips, of course. They went two states away for a choral festival, leaving the band to suffer through two horrific rehearsals. There were the numerous after-school and pre-choir (everyone's choir) practices, which left me looking at the non-members of Distinction and dying inside. Everyone else was either not as blessed in the music field, blessed in other areas and just in choir to pass the time, or heathen, as I'd grown to call myself. (Dane did too, after he was sure that I wasn't going to kill him.)
Then there was the Day from Hell. This is my abridged journal entry for the day:
It started this morning. Caryn and Matt [Caryn's on-again, off-again
musically talented crush] and Maria [Caryn's slightly more outgoing
sister] were working on their hymn for tomorrow in the music room. Anne was
doing her algebra, and I was lurking around as usual. I read the contest [large group contest--band, choir, and Distinction were going to strut
their talent] lists of arrivals and returns and suddenly I saw that
WHAM~Tony and Chuck [two non-Distinction tenors] were included in the
Distinction Choir group. I asked why, Matt said that they needed more people,
and I just left to the shouts of "You're not Lutheran!" from Anne.
A little backstory before we begin...
I am a music person. I love it~singing, playing, listening, critiquing, whatever. It makes me feel alive. My music instructor is a fabulous guy with a wonderful personality and that's where this all gets tricky.
My school is part of a denomination of Christianity that's strict when it comes to fellowship (a.k.a. who gets to participate in what). They're very big on religious unity. But I registered there two years ago under interesting circumstances, I was just happy to be going somewhere different. Hey, I think I told myself. They're Lutheran, I'm Lutheran, what's the biggest difference gonna be? Different Jell-O recipes?
Boy, was I wrong. My branch of Lutheranism is by far the most liberal while theirs is the most conservative. Hello, difference!
My first year at CLS (Conservative Lutheran School), I spent first semester in a daze. It was a totally new enviornment. For one thing, everyone treated everyone else like human beings (more or less). I made friends...Anne, Lyn (a pastor's daughter trying to live up to her older siblings and failing), Caryn (another pastor's daughter with a shy exterior covering up a decent sense of humor), and Dane, the music instructor.
The beginning tremors of my mini-disaster occurred sometime early first semester. It was the day of auditions for an elite (a word I have grown to despise yet covet attached to my name) band and I was lurking around the music room, having a typical conversation with Dane: music, life in general, more music, a bit of snark.
The topic then turned to Distinction Choir, the auditioned group of singers that branched off of the sophmore through senior choir. Every freshman had to be in Freshman Music, which consisted of learning note names, learning rhythms, and threats of detention every twenty minutes, so as of yet I hadn't been too involved with either of the older/better choirs. All I knew is that I wanted to be in Distinction.
That's when the earthquake rolled its' first quiver.
Dane told me, a little tenatively, that I couldn't be in Distinction because while I was Lutheran, I wasn't their brand of Lutheran. Since the choir sang at worship services, letting me in would be violating the specified rules set down by God and, somewhere along the line, the district president. This is when it all gets a little fuzzy, from either time or shock. I remember saying, "Do you see all this control? Would you like to see all this control go out the window?" I remember leaving. I remember going into the ladies' room. I remember throwing my black patent pleather high heels at the wall in anger.
Life moved on from that fateful day. In the back of my mind, there was a small thought of I'm gonna try out and I'll be amazing and they'll beg me to join, regardless of what my acronym is.
This year, the earthquake hit full force.
It was on a Wednesday--the first Wednesday of the school year--that Dane called me into the music room, which was fast becoming my home away from home. On Tuesday, I had asked if I could try out for Distinction Choir and, if I did, "Will you take me seriously?" (I remember this phrase very well. We were both in the office and Caryn was by my side, tsk-tsk-ing about my refusal to let the issue go. She does that a lot when it comes to matters of me.) I was supposed to be having a voice lesson. That never happened.
Dane said that he had talked to the superiors and they decided that I, and anyone else who wasn't part of their branch, wouldn't be allowed to audition for Distinction Choir. We spent close to two hours talking about this and I tried desparately not to cry. It wasn't fair. Everything wasn't fair. He didn't do anything to deserve telling a ravenous tiger that the food shipment had been cancelled.
Auditions came and went. No one in The Reject Pile got in, but most of the population of The Eliters did. I have a theory that this is how they became elite, actually. Musical talent coupled with bubbly personalities. I wasn't the only one that had to deal with this. Elle, a quasi-member of The Eliters and a soprano, did too, which sparked our friendship.
The year passed. Whenever the words "Distinction Choir" were spoken, I would mutter something uncomplimentary (defying the wish that I "keep a Christian attitude"), tense up, and stride away, feeling like I'd been shunned by all. This drove Caryn nuts. Anne, on the other hand, would tell me in no uncertain terms to become one of them or stop complaining.
There were the trips, of course. They went two states away for a choral festival, leaving the band to suffer through two horrific rehearsals. There were the numerous after-school and pre-choir (everyone's choir) practices, which left me looking at the non-members of Distinction and dying inside. Everyone else was either not as blessed in the music field, blessed in other areas and just in choir to pass the time, or heathen, as I'd grown to call myself. (Dane did too, after he was sure that I wasn't going to kill him.)
Then there was the Day from Hell. This is my abridged journal entry for the day:
It started this morning. Caryn and Matt [Caryn's on-again, off-again
musically talented crush] and Maria [Caryn's slightly more outgoing
sister] were working on their hymn for tomorrow in the music room. Anne was
doing her algebra, and I was lurking around as usual. I read the contest [large group contest--band, choir, and Distinction were going to strut
their talent] lists of arrivals and returns and suddenly I saw that
WHAM~Tony and Chuck [two non-Distinction tenors] were included in the
Distinction Choir group. I asked why, Matt said that they needed more people,
and I just left to the shouts of "You're not Lutheran!" from Anne.
Selena [senior soprano with an angelic voice] said that since
Bonnie [junior alto who disappeared mysteriously to...somewhere, no one was
quite sure] is gone, they need more people since they weren't sure they were
a "large" group.
I feel like I've been slapped. It's a stunnment. That's the only word for
it, even though it's not a word.
How could he?!?!?!
Do I not get a "thank you"? A token of gratitude for putting up with all
of this idiocy?
...
Nothing is constant. People change, Distinction Choir changes, nobody
predicts it.
...
If this was a movie, the heroine would be invited to sing with the Choir
for contest, get her guy, and feel included at last. But life isn't a movie.
On the worst day scale, that would be up there on the top.
So that's why this year, I'm not going to sit on the sidelines and count how many freshmen showed up for the Distinction Choir's show choir performance. I'm going to be performing, because I'm becoming one of them. My church will flip. Anne will crow "I told you so!" But you know what?
Music is me.
1 comment:
Do it, you'll never know what it'll be like unless you try.
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