By Karen Wheeler, Slice of Life

My family has been complaining lately about all the singing at our house. My daughter, you see, was in the musical Oklahoma! at Burnsville Senior High School, and loud, exuberant songs have been echoing from our rafters for the past two months. The trouble is, however, that it’s not my daughter – in her lovely soprano voice – doing the singing. It’s me.

Karen WheelerI serenade the kids awake with “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.” I round them up for supper by trotting past singing ‘The Surrey with the Fringe on Top.” I stalk about gathering laundry and moan, “Poor Jud is Dead.” The kids crab and complain and tell me to turn on the radio so I’ll get different songs in my head, but it’s no use. At any moment, totally out of the blue, I will launch into such a fine operatic rendition of “People Will Say We’re in Love” that everyone runs away screaming. Including me.

A few Saturdays ago, I was helping at the high school to tear down the set, and I started reminiscing about all the performances. Before I knew it, I was humming the songs under my breath. Soon, so intent was I on removing all the screws in my area of the stage, I started singing “Oklahoma” out loud. In an instant my daughter came up behind me and hissed, “Mom!” When she said it, the word became two syllables, which helped convey the underlying message, “How could you possibly be singing out loud when all these very musical people could hear you?”

Now, I must admit that my daughter’s actions were very appropriate because, truth be known, I cannot carry a tune to save my soul. There. I’ve said it. It cuts me to the core because I wish it wasn’t so, but it is a fact that, when God was handing out musical talent, all I received was an exuberant song in my heart. Unfortunately, I somehow missed the lines where he was handing out things like tone, pitch, ability to stay on key, etc.Thus, when my daughter admonished me, I knew she was right. I should not be singing aloud, especially not among a group of talented young people who had just performed in a high-quality musical production. I ducked my head and got back to unscrewing the boards, working my way across the floor until, before I knew it, I was exactly in the middle of the stage. The lights pulsed their hypnotic heat down on my back and, glancing around, I realized I was working in a circle of light.“Wow,” I thought, standing up to stretch my stiff muscles, “here I am right on center stage.” I looked out into the dark theater, imagining the seats filled with appreciative patrons of the arts. Suddenly I was 16 years old again, smiling and waving to the crowd as I accepted my Top Actress Award for the 4-H One-Act Plays. Uh-huh. (Take a bow) That’s right. (A curtsy too) Who’s the best?

Suddenly my daughter was yanking on my arm, saying “Mom!” in that two-syllable way and pulling me out from under the spotlight. “I have to go to school with these people!” she said, taking away my cordless drill and leading me out the back door.“But I didn’t realize I was actually waving and bowing,” I said. “I don’t want to load the Dumpster. I’ll be out here all by myself.”“That’s the idea,” she said, and went back inside to help.I sighed and looked around the empty school grounds. The more I thought about it, however, the more I decided there might be benefits to being out here all alone – especially while I was still in the afterglow of standing under the big spotlight on center stage.“OK, then,” I said, giving a deep curtsy to the pieces of wood waiting to be thrown away, “I will now entertain you fine fellows with my unique rendition of “Oh, What a Beautiful Dumpster.”

I’m pretty sure that, if wood could have clapped and cheered, it would have.

 (Karen Wheeler is a veterinarian who lives in Burnsville. Her column is one of several opinion and commentary pieces appearing regularly in this newspaper.)