A Lasting Note

“When I was your age, I sang in the shower, but I never thought of myself as a singer. Now, choir’s my favorite class every day, and it could be for you too.” 

Oof. This “joke” seemed to get a few laughs from the kids I told it to throughout this year’s men’s choir “Chipotle tour” of our district’s elementary schools. Even for someone who follows multiple “Dad joke” Twitter accounts this is pretty corny, but it couldn’t be more true.

If it wasn’t for my mom hearing good things about choir then making me switch into it from weights, my voice may have never left the shower. But in the past four years, choir has become my solace. 

Choir is the only time in my day I can turn off the rest of the world, relax and enjoy making music. More importantly than learning music, choir gave me an opportunity to be a part of something I could never do on my own, to be a part of something beautiful — harmonies, voice cracks and all. 

My unmajestic and untrained voice was able to sing complex Italian madrigals, soulful spirituals, and bounce off of the walls of a thousand year old Basilica, all because my voice was a part of one larger voice. And it was this year in Chambers, that I truly realized how lucky I was.

As I waited for my turn to audition for the Chamber choir my junior year, I convinced myself that nothing was worth the embarrassment of auditioning. I picked up my things to leave, but student teacher Alex Lawson caught me right as I was about to walk out the door. I would call it fate that he stopped me for just enough time to hear Foley’s booming voice belt the dreaded “Robbie Veglahn?”

What felt like a death sentence of having to sit in a room with Mr. Foley and sing by myself – yes, by myself – ended up turning into a year of some of the most meaningful experiences of my life. 

Before my first day sitting in that 24-seat Chambers circle, I knew I would be out of place among some of East’s most talented singers. But instead I was welcomed with open arms and open vowels (sorry for the Dad jokes again) by people who are now some of my best friends. Through “schloop” movie nights and weekly share-time stories where we laughed about roof-backpacks and hugged about lost loved ones, we grew to become a family. Though my friends never knew it, on the day my grandma died it was singing “Glow” with Chambers that gave me peace.
I’ve had an incredible year, growing and singing and laughing. And then, we went to Italy.

I could write novel’s worth about the meaningful moments and stories from our trip, like the Gelato and the “Bella Ciao” and St. Peter’s Basilica, but our sixth day in Assisi will remain with me until the day I die. 

That day, three of my closest friends and I spent an afternoon on a hill overlooking the Renaissan
ce town, and that night the Chamber choir sang my favorite piece “Afternoon on a Hill.” 

Images of the flowing Assisi countryside and hilltop Castle we explored played through my h
ead to the tune, and as as our voices rang out the text praising an afternoon of serenity, I watched Foley break down in tears of joy.

But what I found more meaningful was looking into the crowd filling up the ancient pews — three people stood out in particular. One was a wide-eyed toddler giggling. One was a monk with an iPad recording our performance (hello New Yorker cartoon?). And one was an elderly Italian woman with tears in her eyes. 

In our choir room, the music we made brought me peace and joy. But what made our trip and my experience in choir so special was that I learned we could bring those feelings to complete strangers. And I’ll take that lesson with me for the rest of my life

So to my friends in choir, thank you for sharing yourselves and your voices with me. And to Mr. Foley, thank you for teaching me how to find DO, for making me understand the power of music and for showing me that it’s OK to sing outside of the shower. If it had been up to me, I never would’ve been in choir. My mom made me drop weights, my student teacher stopped me as I tried to flee, but man am I glad Mr. Foley still called my name.