I don't sing. It's not that I don't want to sing. If I could have one shred of artistic talent it would be to have a melodious voice that I could call upon at any moment I desired. Having a great voice is something that people who sing, take entirely for granted. This talent is so transportable. It can be with you on the subway if you wanted to break into song (and probably get shot), in an elevator (which would actually be pretty awkward), in a shower, or in a church. I really admire people that can sing, and I seem to be surrounded by them in a large number that is not statistically representative of the population as a whole. Just to name a few, I have my dear friend Lindsay, my fabulous coworker Lauren C.R., and my sister in law Rachel, just to name a few. But I'd also be remiss if I didn't add my whole husband's family as well to the list of people blessed with remarkable voices. Regardless, I didn't get that gene. (sorry mom, but you know it's true).
So, I hope that Jackson inherited his dad's musical talent, so he can hold a tune, strut his stuff on the dance floor, and play instruments that don't start with "clar" and end in "net". We started with baby maracas, we play music often, we got him a set of bongo drums, and we give him lots of pots and pans and wooden spoons to bang away until his heart's content. However, if he inherited my dominant lack of talent, those exposures aren't going to matter much . . . but I can hold out hope with the nature versus nurture theory.
One thing I learned today: Jackson could care less about my voice and really isn't judgemental at this stage, (or, if he is, he can't articulate that I am making his ears bleed), so I need to take full advantage. Note to self: busting out to the "I Love Sushi" song on the way home in the car, dancing like a fool around the house to Old MacDonald, and singing Eesty Weensy Spider atrociously off key is okay and is perfectly acceptable, because let's face it . . . if you can't be an extrovert around your children then life is just plain boring. Kids love being serenaded, even if it does crack a few windows in the process.
2 comments:
Pots and pans are the answer. I'm sure it's the subtle, subconcious memory that caused me to spontaneously decide before "3rd grade Christmas" that "I want to play drums." Also, it helps to have a brother who similarly-spontaneously declares "I want to play guitar."
I can't believe you're reading my blog! I love you! I included you in my list of great singers...you are really talented. Miss you!
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