So You Think You Can Sing?

This past weekend, my dad hosted his large family (he was one of 18 kids) for a three-day family reunion. There was a ton of food, lots of great conversation, a bus tour of the city and ... singing.

When a family has 18 kids, the money tends to be a little tight, so the primary entertainment in his house for many years was not TV or even the radio, it was sitting around the living room singing. In an understandable fit of nostalgia, my dad decided that we'd dedicate one of the afternoons to vocalizing the songs of the past. One of his nephews brought his guitar, another brought his harmonica set (I didn't know harmonicas came in sets until then), and the rest of us were encouraged to sing. It's actually a heap of fun to sing in a big group where your voice gets lost in the crowd. We roared our way through some Beatles, some Elvis Presley, and some Simon and Garfunkel.

All went well until my little part of the family was asked to share some of the songs we sang as kids. Thanks to my parents, I grew up on Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Patti Page, and Edith Piaf, and I made the colossal mistake of choosing The Tennessee Waltz--

My cousin, the guitar player: What note do you want me to play in?
Me: Huh?
Him: (strumming) This okay?
Me: (starting to sing, voice quickly breaking) Maybe that's a bit too high.
Him: How about this?
Me: (starting to sing, voice going so low nothing is coming out) Maybe that's a bit too low.
Him: Uhm, there's no note in between.
Me: (realizing I can't sing and that I've been fooling myself for years) Oh.
Him: (going back to the first note) Well, let's just go with this one.
Me: (stumbling over words I thought I remembered) I lost my little darling ... something something ... the beeuuu-tiful Tennessee Waaaaltz
Him: (looking desperately around) Okay, who else would like to sing? Anybody?

Don't worry folks, you'll never see me in the audition line-up of American Idol. I promise.