Honor Choir

I recently heard a Beatles song. Whenever I think of the Beatles, I think of my elementary school honor choir....

I was nine-years-old before I was ever formally introduced to the Beatles. Of course I had seen footage of them on television and heard a few of their songs in different places, but I associated these images and melodies more with a distant time I had never known than with one of the world's most well-known and influential bands.

My elementary school music teacher, Ms. B, however, tried her best to instill in her students an appreciation of her favorite band. We spent weeks learning the history of the band, its songs, and its respective members. My favorite was Ringo, because he had the kind of a name you would give to a dog.

My class was forced to sing along with many of the band's greatest hits, but one in particular stands out to me, and for more than one reason. All Together Now was one of Ms. B's favorite songs to push upon the class. It is an ideal song to teach young children both for its echoing chorus and simple lyrics. Of the song's 249 words, 144 of them are “all,” “together,” or “now.” Twenty-two of the 105 remaining words are “bompa” and “bom.”

One day, after yet another round of bompa boms, Ms. B came to the class with some news. The school would be forming an “honor choir.” I wasn't sure what was going to be so honorable about this choir. No one seemed interested in Ms. B's offer, but the mandatory try-outs were to be held the next day.

I spent the entire evening thinking about the choir. How embarrassing would it be to sing in front of so many people? Singing in the shower was one thing. Anyone can sing in the shower. When you hear in the shower's closed acoustics, you could fancy yourself the world's greatest baritone. The cold and distant annex at my elementary school was a completely different scenario. That was a place where love for music went to die along with whatever other furry rodents had found their way in.

Not only was I at risk of having to share my pre-puberty and probably terrible voice with the world, but harassment from my fellow classmates would surely follow. The cool kids were already talking about how lame it would be to be part of such a group. I didn't know a lot about myself at that point in my life, but I did know was that I definitely didn't want to be lame.

Being the last one picked is a fear that often haunts the thoughts of grade school kids, but for the first time in my life I was hoping I was the absolute worst singer the school had ever seen. I sought advice from the most practical person I knew, my dear old dad. I explained to my father the news of the choir and how the try-outs were the next day.

“Oh, honor choir,” he said. “I remember being in choir when I was your age.”

“How was it?” I asked, looking for reassurance.

“I hated it,” he said. “but at least I got to miss some class.” 

This wasn't the comforting anecdote I was looking for, though missing class is always a bonus. I think Dad could see the concern in my eyes.

“You don't want to be on this choir, do you?”

I paused for a second. “No,” I finally admitted.

“Well, just do what I used to do. Move your mouth but don't say anything.”

Genius. There will be so many kids singing there that there's no way she'll notice one voice missing. I was going to lip-synch my way to non-lame status.

When the time for the try-outs came I was tired an nervous. I had a terrible nightmare that caused me to lose some sleep. In my dream, Ms. B discovered I hadn't given my all at the auditions and had given me quite a verbal scalding. That was it. I know it comes across as an underwhelming nightmare, but it didn't take much to disturb a young Ben Luschen, so try to have some empathy.

When the class began singing, I nervously moved my mouth, hoping no one would catch me. As time flew and songs came and went without anyone catching on the my scheme, I grew more confident with my mouth movements, opening my jaws wide and smiling, sometimes even waving around my hands as if the music had just taken me like a strong wind.

Though there was no way she was on to me, Ms. B wasn't satisfied with the class' efforts.

“From your diaphragms, children! Sing from your diaphragms!”

Though I had perfected the art of lip-synching by now, the movement of my jaws combined with my tiredness forced me into an unsettling yawning fit. One yawn, in particular, was loud in enough to make the kid I was standing next to laugh. Ms. B seemed to notice as well.

“Ben!” she exclaimed, making me jump. “That was... perfect!” I looked at her in shock.

“At last, someone here finally understands how to sing with your diaphragm. Ben, please show the class.”

I turned to my classmates, my face red as a tomato, and began my demonstration. “Ummmmmmm.” The whole class giggled.

“Great job Ben,” said Ms. B, clearly reassured in her teaching abilities.

The next song we sang was All Together Now. I would sing it many times as a member of the school honor choir.