As a child, I was always singing. I dreamed of being Maria von Trapp and making people happy with only a song. Because I loved to sing, and was good at it, my parents enrolled me in a singing workshop when I was 11. At the end of the workshop, we were to present an operetta for our families. When it was time for the operetta practices to start, I waited with hungry anticipation as the scripts were handed out, revealing our assigned role. I coveted the part of the main character who would be singing throughout the production. As I opened my script, my jaw dropped. Instead of the main character, I was to be a servant girl who had only one small solo part. I was deflated. I should have been “the star.”
This desire to be “the star” was borne from feelings of inferiority forged into my personality as a child. My father was always yelling at me. Anytime I complained, cried, made a mistake, tripped, dropped, broke something, or didn’t know the difference between the tools in his toolbox, he yelled. He would throw labels of “stupid,” “worthless,” and “good for nothing,” at me. I longed for him to accept my faults and emotions, but it didn’t happen. However, when I sang, my father lavished me with praise. This is why I needed to sing. It was the only time I was free to be me.
As a teenager, I carefully hid my emotions and feelings from him, afraid of his wrath. I suffered all the varied emotions of a teenage girl in silence. Singing was the only way I could unmask myself, and awaken the real me.
When I started college, I wanted to study music, but self-doubts from my childhood echoed, “the competition is too fierce,” and “you’ll never make the cut.” So, I chose to study Elementary Education instead of music. I convinced myself that working with children would feed my hunger for acceptance and allow my soul the freedom it craved.
I was married soon after graduation. Amidst the rearing of children and caring for home and husband, the gnawing hunger to perform was unrelenting. Haunted by the labels of my childhood, I tried to release the songs imprisoned in my soul. I hungered to be the real me, more alive and full of fun. I struggled with feelings of despair as I watched others perform, wishing to share the songs of my heart. Many times my soul cried out, “WHY?” Why did Heavenly Father give me this voice if I didn’t have any prospect of sharing it with the world?
After 7 years of marriage and a move to Texas, my hunger was subdued when I joined a performing choir in the Dallas Metroplex. I even sang oldies at a nursing home. The weekly choir practices, and monthly visits to the nursing home, brought harmony and peace to my soul. These activities became my soul’s sustenance, its lifeline,
Suddenly, the line was cut. My husband lost his job and I was pregnant with complications, forcing me into bedrest. All musical activity ceased. New employment forced us to move. My sustenance was gone.
In our new location, I begged my husband to allow me to join a Mormon choir in the area, but he refused because of the new baby, and the long commute to practices. I again stuffed my dreams deep inside, burying any hope of attaining them. I was too old to be a recording artist, too old to star in musical theater, and I was not qualified to teach music, or even give private lessons. I was starving.
After four excruciating years, we moved back to Texas. I threw myself into volunteer work and serving others, just to ignore the gnawing ache inside. But it refused to die. I couldn’t smother it, stifle it, or root it out. I decided to start substitute teaching to see if it would fill my longing.
One day, the phone rang. It was the local Elementary school.
“Would you like to substitute for two weeks in music?”
My heart raced as I answered, “YES! I would love to!”
The next day, I eagerly arrived at the classroom. I perused the lesson plans: 6th grade: practice for choir concert, 5th grade: harmonizing, 4th grade: dance to “The Bells of Dunkirk,” 3rd grade: another dance. First and second grade: play “Squirrels in the Tree,” Kindergarten: practice singing a story book set to music. My first day was thrilling. I was a child again, singing and dancing like Maria von Trapp. For those few precious moments of class time, I felt free. The music in my soul was released. Never before had I felt so energized, so happy, and fulfilled at the end of each day. I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.
It has been five years since I discovered the pure joy and sustenance that came from teaching music. I have not given up my dream to perform, even though I have yet to attain it. I now have a new dream to create a business where children, teens, and adults can learn about, and perform music. I want to give them the opportunities I missed out on, to shine, to feel alive, to dream, and to be one’s self, without fear. Maybe I will be a Maria von Trapp after all.
