The Realities of Singing - Don't Discourage Your Kids...Yet

So, why am I here on Hubpages? It's a long story, but I will attempt to fill you in. Regardless of where you start in my story, the bread crumbs always bring you back to MUSIC.

I grew up excelling in two areas: math and music. Which was my passion? Music, of course. However, music did not equal wealth and success in my parents’ eyes, so I was constantly dissuaded from dreaming about a career in music. College was a must, but a degree in music was a no-no. This “fact” was engrained in me from an early age. Music would be nothing more than a hobby. My career “passion” would eventually strike me in the rear when career-cupid decided to take a shot at me.

At age 5, I began piano lessons. At age 10, I began violin lessons. Also at age 10, I decided to muster every ounce of courage I had and try singing in a school talent show. I’d been a closet singer for several years, practicing in my room with Mariah Carey, Reba McEntire, and Wilson Phillips. I was confident that I would be a superstar, if only my friends and family could hear me. This was my chance. I’d even picked out my superstar outfit at the local Deb (is Deb even in business anymore?).

I approached my mother one Saturday morning, goose bumps my only allies, as I tried to build up enough saliva to get the words out of my mouth. “I want to sing in the talent show at school next month,” I told her. I’ll never forget it. She stared blankly at me and then laughed. “Since when do you sing?” she asked me, smirking. Reasonable question I guess.

So, she asked me to sing for her. I proudly put my Bette Midler tape in the tape player. Yes, there were still tape players at this time and it took me about five minutes just to get the song cued up. I was going to sing From a Distance. It was going to be great. Tears were going to well up in my mom’s eyes and she was going to tell me that I was gifted. She was going to immediately begin her planning of my career and how she’d make me famous. Despite the fact that I hadn’t yet hit puberty, it would only be a matter of days before I’d be singing alongside Mariah or Reba in a studio. It was playing out in my mind.

Wrong. My American Idol “smackdown” moment came well before the Idol concept was even a twinkle in someone’s eye. Unlike Simon, however, my mother let me get through the entire song. This, I thought, was promising. Her lack of emotion only meant that she was trying really hard not to cry tears of joy. I waited only a couple of seconds to hear her speak.

“Lindsay, honey, noooooooo. Are you sure you want to do this? You’re not that good.” She said it with as much tenderness and sorrow as she could manage. She did what so many parents fail to do. She shot down what she deemed to be an unreasonable dream in order to save me a lifetime of unnecessary heartache. Kudos to her, right?

Wrong again. I refused to believe that she could be right. I went back into the closet to sing when no one was watching. I studied. I listened over and over again to Mariah doing vocal runs. I practiced over and over again, trying to mimic her. Talk about a passion. I never tired of it. Singing was like breathing to me. I had to do it. Each time my parents left the house and I was alone, the minute their car left the driveway, I was in our basement with the stereo on full blast, singing at the top of my lungs. When I was by myself, I wasn’t afraid of my voice. I let it out. I nurtured it. I improved.

Unfortunately, my mom gave me a complex and I was terrified of ever singing in front of someone again. I dreamed of someone “accidentally” overhearing me someday and discovering me. Once, when I was 13, after drama practice at school, I confided in my drama teacher that I’d love nothing more than to stand on the stage and sing a song. I asked her if she’d humor me. After everyone left, she put my tape in (yep, still using tapes) and I sang On My Own from Les Miserables to an empty auditorium. A janitor walked in as I finished the song and clapped for me. My drama teacher smiled, but never said much about it. Due to her lack of response, my complex deepened and I retreated even further into my musical closet.

Though I loved to sing and dreamed of being discovered, I honestly never believed that I was a good singer. Therefore, it never occurred to me that I should pursue singing as my passion and career. I became quite accomplished at the violin, serving as Concert Master of my high school orchestra for three years without defeat. Though I enjoyed playing the violin much more than any subject I was studying in school, I didn’t have a passion for it. So when the time came to go to college and pick a major, I decided to become an engineer. I didn’t like violin enough to practice day-in and day-out, I was really good at math, and engineers used math. So, it all seemed to make sense to me. Remember, singing wasn’t even an option in my mind.

I spent four miserable years getting my degree. I hated every minute. I went on to get a very lucrative job in corporate America. Still, I hated every minute. The money didn’t make me happy. The things I was able to buy didn’t make me happy.

During my last year of school, I met my future husband. It would be months before we started dating. However, both he and his brother played guitar and invited me over to play violin with them. He convinced me to sing for him and his brother that night. Both of them applauded me and swore that I’d been singing all my life. Truth be told, I had been singing all my life, just not in front of anyone.

The rest was history. Though it remained a hobby as I finished school and got my first corporate job, I slowly became a true vocalist. I started by nervously singing in local karaoke contests. Then I won a contest. Someone I worked with asked me to audition for his band. I became the front-woman of their band, The Great Unknowns. Five years later, I became the front-woman of a second band, First Impressions. Links to our pages are below. I can sing folks. I’m not tooting my own horn. I may not be Bette Midler or Mariah Carey, but I can sing. I want so badly to somehow make money as a singer/songwriter.

Here’s the kicker. Just last month (Feb 2009), I took a severance package. I was a corporate climber, doing incredibly well and with very little chance of being laid off. Nevertheless, since the company was asking for volunteers to reduce lay-off numbers, I volunteered. I now have nine months to establish a decent income via singing and/or songwriting. THIS IS MY PASSION. There is no doubt in my mind, body, or soul. I know that songwriting is more lucrative and I think I might actually be good at it. I’d share lyrics here, but I have not yet had them copyrighted. I’m working on it. I have until early December to accomplish this (yikes). However, I have a feeling that it will all fall into place somehow. I have no desire to be famous. I just want to make a living.

Though I wanted to share my story, I also wanted to make a point. Yes, there are people in the world that think they can sing, but are truly tone-deaf and clueless. However, to those parents with children that want to sing…give them the chance. At least get them voice lessons and support them long enough to determine whether they simply needed guidance or truly don’t possess the talent. It still saddens me to think that I could have spent the past ten years trying to establish myself in some sort of career as a singer/songwriter if I had only had the support my mom. Her advice meant the most and it was her advice I followed. I still love her dearly and I’m truly thankful for the things I’ve learned and path I’ve taken. I wouldn’t have met my husband if I had not become an engineer. Nevertheless, let your children dream, at least for a little while.