Tonights reminder of my artistic flaws

Seriously, I don't have to be reminded that I don't have an artistic bone, vessel or tissue in my body. My entire being is devoid of anything having to do with musical or artistic talent. I'm sure I've probably mentioned this before, but I'm constantly reminded by it throughout the day. Everywhere, I'm surrounded by talent which confirms my lack thereof.

I kid you not. I even have trouble playing hangman because I can't even draw a decent stick person!

In elementary school, my art teacher lashed out at me and told me that I had absolutely no artistic talent whatsoever and that I need not take another art class. I kid you not. Nice blow to my ego and blossoming artistic endeavors.

Music wasn't any better. See, for those of you that don't know me, I've always been well a tomboy of sorts. My mom put me in pretty dresses until the 2nd grade when I could no longer take being attacked and having my dress lifted by an older bully. Mind you, I clearly wasn't an isolated victim. It wasn't until the 8th grade that I wore a skirt. Needless to say, even to this day, I'm still not big on the whole dress and skirt thing. Maybe that has something to do with my thunder thighs and scars from knee surgery, regardless. Anyway, back to music class...What was the teacher's name? I believe it was Mrs. Quarter, although in our family over the years we joke about Mrs. Penny, Mrs. Dime, etc. so now I'm finding it hard to recollect her real name. Music class was mandatory.

I think I thought I had a good voice. Granted the only American Idol I would ever be would be one of the laughed at and mocked auditioners, but I thought I was good. Then, I think it was 4th or 5th grade, maybe it was 4th since our school only went to 5th grade, we had auditions for the choir. Maybe it was an ensemble of sorts, I don't recall. I've tried to block the whole horrific event from my mind. I'm digging deep into the dark recesses of my mind...ok, not really. Anyway, I sang my heart and voice out. I really did. And I really thought I did well. I thought I did better than some of my friends. I so wanted to be with the pretty girls who were dubbed Sopranos. But no...I was destined to sing with the boys as an Alto. WHAT? I was devastated. If this didn't confirm my tom boyishness and lack of musical talent, I don't know what did. In retrospect, maybe it wasn't because I couldn't sing, I just couldn't sing high notes. But Mrs. Half Dollar never explained that maybe I did have talent and I would be an asset to the choir if I remained. Therefore confirming that as a singer, I would never be.

Today I sing at every opportunity in the car. I don't even care if there is a passenger in the car with me. If I'm comfortable enough with that person, I sing. It's a complete stress reducer for me. And I also make up my own words since I can't seem to understand a great majority. My son and I have great memories and laughs about my wonderful songs and stories too.

I do have a point to the story. As usual, I take the least direct path, the path of least resistance. Tonight I went to my son's vocal ensemble/school choir concert. And there, right in front of me I was faced with memories of elementary choir. Of the pretty kids and the awkward ones. Of the ones with solos that were confident enough to sing but not the best at doing so. Listening to the praises from the music teacher. Reminiscing and placing faces of my young classmates of way back when. Way back when, when my dreams of being a musician or an American Idol wannabe were...shattered.

(For those of you that may be interested...I took my shattered ego and tried musical instruments for band in 5th grade instead. Confirming that I was indeed a tomboy and taking jabs from the guys that I was too little and too weak to play the Tuba - I did exactly that for 4 years. And...I HATED EVERY BLESSED MINUTE OF IT - BUT I SURE PROVED THOSE BOYS WRONG!)