Pitch Perfect written
by Janet Wilcox September
1999
Revised July 2016
Mr. Hanson and our 8th grade class
 |
| Where is Grandma Janet? |
Barbara walked calmly to the piano and then with
perfect pitch, hit each note that our choir teacher, Mr. Hansen played on the
piano.
"That's very good. You'll be a real asset in the alto
section." She sauntered back to her
seat, and the next student warily approached the piano. One by one our music teacher tested each of us
to see which part we could best sing.
" I wish I'd never come to school
today," I thought. My insides did a quick gyro flex, then slowly twisted
into a figure eight, pushing my diaphragm up in to my throat. I clenched my
clammy hands tightly and thought, "I know my voice won't even come close
to the pitch. I can't even hear it. I'll probably squeak."
This was the day my mother had warned would
eventually catch up with me. "Some
day you'll be sorry you didn't develop your voice." For years Mom had practiced and gone to voice
lessons herself and developed a beautiful soprano voice, but I ignored her
urgings to learn how to sing. Instead of
corralling my wayward talent, I had let my voice wander off into an uncharted
wilderness of monotone bliss. Never had
I tried singing a part or joined a chorus.
However, I could read music, and play a respectable hymn on either the
clarinet or piano. That was my
concession to music.
Now here I was, herded in with the rest of the 8th grade sheep and expected to sing on tune.
Everyone would know instantly when my voice spun off into ear‑jarring
disharmony. There would be no privacy for this public tune up. How
embarrassing! I knew I could never get
my voice to match the tone of the note played. My brothers had teased me
enough, so I knew I did a definite disservice to any song I attempted to sing.
I didn't know if any sound could even squeeze past the contorted knot I felt in
the pit of my stomach.
Tamra, then Linda each took their turns. Their voices soared to the high notes like
dazzling butterflies topping a swaying daisy. I tried to imagine my shaky voice
inching up the scale. Yes, there it was,
crawling toward the note like a rheumatoid centipede. Then I heard Mr. Hansen call my name.
He hit
the F above middle C. Some strange tone
bounced from my mouth, landed somewhere in the cracks between the black keys. It then somersaulted
back down, sprawling somewhere between D and A flat. From the scowl on Mr. Hansen's face I could
tell there was no relationship between it and the note he had played. I must
have been at least two full steps off, which way I wasn't sure.
"Try this one," he grimaced, as he
hit another key. Again I tried to match
the note. I couldn't tell if my ears
couldn't hear the pitch because of the pounding of my heart, or if it just
wasn't sending the message to my voice; whichever it was, they definitely were
not synchronized. My voice quavered
between two discordant pitches, then careened into the crevices between the
keys. I knew I was off pitch, but I was
unable to make the necessary correction. I heard a few muffled snickers from the
chorus seats behind me. In desperation he tried one more note. Surely, anyone could hit Middle C. I was sure I came close, but at the last
moment my voice veered off to the left landing in the bass clef.
Mr. Hansen removed his glasses, and
rubbed his brow, while rolling his eyes heavenward. I could tell by his
perplexed expression; he was at a loss about where to put me. In a somewhat desperate query, he asked,
"You don't happen to play the piano, do you?" I'm not sure who was more relieved, Mr.
Hansen or myself--when I replied, "Yes."
"That's great," he said. "You'll be our accompanist."
For years afterward that was my role-‑ in both church and school. I was the accompanist.
Even in college, I willingly volunteered for that safe, nonthreatening
position, and never gave my voice a chance to sing a part. The piano was my musical shield for 35
years. Then one day, in a desperate
move, to encourage my teenagers to join the church choir, I found myself
promising that I would go, if they would.
It seemed an easy trade off for them, but to my neophyte voice box, it
was a precarious position. I remember
well the first time I showed up at choir practice. I carefully positioned
myself between two friends whose strong alto voices I knew would drown
me out. While I first learned to hear
the notes, then to sing them, they would be my crutch. I could follow them-- their voices were
strong and true. They helped erect
musical fences to hedge in my wandering voice when I couldn't hear the
tune. They sang louder, asking the
pianist to pound out the alto part, politely letting me waffle up and down the
notes as I retrained my ears and my voice to hear only my part. Like a newborn colt, I staggered from side to
side, wobbling to and fro, only occasionally hitting the notes. For months, I
followed them, learning to listen, and trying to make my untrained voice match
their tones. Though I knew the notes and
could play them on the piano, my inexperienced ears allowed my voice to meander
into the nethermost parts of the keys.
It
was over a year before I began to notice I could occasionally hear the part and
sing it even when I wasn't next to the strongest voices. I was starting to hear the part, and match my
voice to it. I began to feel a part of
the harmony, not part of the discord.
In other parts of our lives disharmony often
arises, and we need a tune up, to pull our lives back into balance. Like our voices, our spirit also must be
trained to listen, to hear, and then respond to spiritual promptings. We have to train ourselves to recognize
God's subtle proddings and to be in tune with the still small voice. The Holy Ghost is there to guide and inspire
us. His promptings are accurate and
true, but often we fail to hear God's quiet melody because of the worldly
discord around us, or the disharmony in our own lives. Sometimes we seek the reckless rhythms of the
world and refuse to listen to the spirit. Thus, we never hear the better part
God has for us. However, when we choose
to follow God's way, we may need to rely on good friends, to keep us on the
right path and to keep us in harmony.
They may have to sing loudly in our ears at time, to keep us on pitch.
But finally the real test will come.
Eventually our spirits will need to stand as soloists in God's choir, in
tune and able to sing.
