When I was a little kid I liked to make up songs.

I could sing about my chores:
Collecting eggs  is fun
Chickens are so weird

I could sing about my family:
Too many boys.
There are just too many boys. 

I could sing about the heartbreaks:
Festus, you were the best dog in the world.
Festus, you were the best friend to this girl.
I hate snakes.
I hate snakes.
I hate rattlesnakes.

I sang a lot. I got teased a lot. I was chased, indian burned, wedgied and ridiculed by my brothers and cousins. The adults in my life were baffled, bemused and bothered. No one ever said “Wow! What a great imagination you have!” Instead they said “That girl has too much imagination.” this was accompanied by eye-rolling, elbow nudging and entirely too much condescension. I learned to put my head down, to sing quieter.  Not because I didn’t want to sing, but because nobody else wanted to hear it. I learned to sing only for myself.

Too many times in my life have I sung or told stories only for myself. Yet now I notice that as I have gotten older, I have grown less and less concerned about the scorn of others. The songs inside of me have called out louder and louder for release. Now, at the mid-point in my life I am learning to sing out again.

What a scary/glorious feeling that is!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 25th, 2011 at 8:23 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.