The Voice I Buried
What a six-year-old’s question taught me about shame, silence, and starting again.
“Mommie, who is that singing?”
My six-year-old grandson asked his mother, my oldest child, from the back seat of my car as I drove them home from school.
“That was your Nana,” she answered softly.
I couldn’t see his face in the rearview mirror as I navigated rush-hour traffic, but I could feel him… his surprise, his amazement, and, most of all, his love.
After I dropped them off and collected my usual round of hugs, I drove home in silence. His question stayed with me: Why hadn’t he ever heard me sing?
Music has always lived in my space. It fills my car, my kitchen, my quiet moments. Yet somewhere along the way, I stopped letting my own voice join in.
Then it hit me, a memory from long ago. Early in my marriage, I was folding laundry and singing softly when my husband walked in. His laugh was loud, almost playful, but it cut deep.
“You need to leave the singing to my sons,” he said.
He meant it as a joke, I think. But I was crushed. Embarrassed. Silenced.
I thought the story ended there, one careless laugh shutting a door.
But my sister recently reminded me of something I’d forgotten.
In elementary school, I was chosen to sing second soprano in the Chicago Children’s Choir. I don’t remember much about it. She says I went to a few rehearsals, then stopped showing up. When she told me, I felt a wave of embarrassment, like I’d been caught not belonging somewhere.
The truth is, my childhood wasn’t easy. When I moved abroad years later, I asked God to fill my heart with enough good memories to crowd out the bad ones. I guess the choir got swept away with the rest.
I didn’t chase that chance; it just found me. The choir was part of a program offering opportunities to kids from Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods. Maybe that’s why I didn’t stay, I didn’t know I was allowed to.
But I did know this: I loved music. I loved how a song could lift me out of the noise around me. I loved to sing along when nobody was listening.
I didn’t realize that simple question from a six-year-old would open a door I’d quietly closed decades ago.
Some of my BEST memories with you have been when your jam comes on the radio and you start singing. Love you Ma 🖤♾️
Interesting. I use to love singing and did so from a young age. Singing groups, choirs, singing along to the radio. Somewhere during this life journey I stopped. I don't know when nor do I remember why. Your post caused me to realize that I haven't sung in years. I might need to take a closer look at that.