Shattering the Sound of Silence

Singing at my kids' wedding

I understand that singing at the dinner table is not a usual occurrence in most households. While growing up, it was a fairly consistent happening in mine, I suppose, to fill the gaps of silence that seemed "amplified" during our repast.

My mom and I were always able to find topics about which to converse, but my dad was likely enjoying his meat and potatoes while my brother was, perhaps, devising ways to thwart my mealtime melodies.

Around our table, no one talked about world events, politics, money, theater, or school - so what's a girl to do other than break into song? And sing, I did!

The Carpenters arrived on the scene via my voice:

"Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near?......"

I loved Karen and Richard Carpenter and was, perhaps, a bit envious of their cohesive and "harmonious" (musically and otherwise) relationship.  Back then, I would have traded my vocal cords for a functional alliance with my brother.

7th grade, my first exposure to public school - and Mrs. Bragg’s music class, proved to be a liberating experience, as I actually spent part of my day singing in school and received a grade for it!  Houston Public School District had no restrictions on the teaching, learning, or performing of holiday songs at that time.  On the heels of 9 years (preschool through grade 6) as a student at a private Jewish Day School, it was refreshing to participate in secular sing-alongs and festivities - which just happened to accompany me to our dinner table.

"....round yon virgin, Mother and Child.  Holy infant, so tender and mild......", I crooned with deep feeling, envisioning Baby Jesus being cradled by his loving Mother.  I became "verklempt" (overcome with emotion) at the tenderness of this Christmas carol and belted it out at the school holiday program (and at the dinner table) as if I had been singing it all my life, instead of, "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel ". 

"Oh great!  It's not bad enough that she sings while we're eating, but now we have to listen to Christmas carols!", complained my brother.

And then, there was "Brandy".  Its catchy melody, barreling its way out of me and joining us for supper.   As the music in my head crescendoed:

"...Brandy, you're a fine girl.  What a good wife you would be....." 

And I am so into it!  

There I sat, at our table for four, perfectly executing the well-practiced pep squad routine to a song that encourages drinking alcoholic beverages, a young girl working late nights in a bar while missing a man who breezes into town, "acquaints" himself with the lovely Brandy, then just as quickly, high-tails it back out to sea. In present times, “Brandy” would be banned from school buildings, much like those "forbidden" books that put questionable ideas into the heads of young people!  

By now, in 9th grade, thanks to Mrs. Echols’s chorus, I learned the words to the Declaration of Independence, as it was one of the patriotic songs we performed:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of happiness....", I chanted with staccato notes in between bites of my dinner that was, by now, cold. 

Again, my brother protested my mealtime entertainment, but the joke was on him!  I was now well-versed in my unalienable rights as a United States citizen, and I did not hesitate to exercise them!  

"Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me........the peace that was meant to be.....Let peace begin with me. Let this be the moment now....", I warbled.  

Perfect selection, I might add, to perhaps insert a suggestive message to those with whom I was dining, holding out hope that, maybe tonite would bring the serenity which I so desired.

"Kyrie Eleison. Ky-rie Ele-i-son....", I sang one evening, as it had become an "earworm" after having repeatedly rehearsed it with of the rest of the choir that day, in order to perfect the syncopation ("coming in" on the off beat) of the music.  Its translation from Greek means, "Lord, have Mercy.", and it is often sung at Catholic mass.  Though I didn't know the meaning of the words back then, the irony is not lost on me now that, through song, I was requesting understanding, kindness, and grace from two of the three people who were seated with me. 

“Sheri!”, my father would snap, “No singing at the dinner table!”.

Everyone has his/her own means of coping or self-soothing.  One of my methods was/is singing - any time, anywhere - even during meals.  I am grateful, though, that managing my angst turned out to be only mildly annoying to others, rather than having taken a hard left turn at some point, landing me in a self-destructive spiral.  Better to have shattered the sound of silence than to have fragmented something more difficult to restore.

Looking back on those years, singing while dining was a means of ensuring that we didn’t eat in silence.  Of course, I wished it had been less of a thorn in my brother’s side - but he always had the options of:  a) becoming a member of my choir,  b) introducing a topic about which to talk, or c) suggesting an alternate tune that was more conducive to his taste in music.  

Some things never change.  I still often sing random songs at, perhaps, inopportune moments. That young girl, who occupied the silence with song at supper time, became a woman who fills her heart, her home and, occasionally still, the dinner table with tunes - nowadays, though, simply for the pure joy of doing so.

© Cre8ive Writes, LLC  2022