Singing for the Smile

My Dad was the first of his generation in his large family to graduate from college.  He worked the night shift at the steel mill, spent a few summers as a garbage man, but he paid his own way and graduated with a degree in education from Kent State University. Education was really important to Dad.

He wanted to make sure each of his kids had the opportunity to attend college as well, and did everything he could to encourage us.

For me, this involved visiting three schools in particular: Ohio State (Dad is an ENORMOUS Buckeye fan and tried his best to sway me in that direction!), Syracuse University, and Cincinnati Conservatory of Music.  The latter two required not only to be accepted academically, but also to pass a singing/dancing audition before being considered for their Musical Theater departments.   Dad freed the time from his ridiculously busy teaching/coaching/refereeing schedule to drive Mom and I to both schools the summer before my senior year.

I really liked Syracuse from the moment I arrived on campus.  The theater professors were welcoming and genuinely nice.  Each potential student was called individually into a small mirrored room to sing our selections and perform a short dance routine to a small panel of teachers, smiling behind a table.  I left feeling good about my audition and hopeful for some positive results.

Then came the trip to Cincinnati.  The CCM campus was quite large, the staff a bit stiff and unsmiling. Immediately upon arriving, approximately 30 of us auditioners and our parents were corralled into a large room and told to sit in the uncomfortable plastic chairs that faced the front, where a giant piano sat.  Just in front of the piano was a long table, where there were seated several music/drama/dance professors, all sporting unfriendly scowls.  The auditioners were asked to take seats in the chairs nearest the front, the parents were to remain in the back.

An older, white-bearded man arose from the table, mumbled a few words of greeting in a forced british accent, then called the first boy's name to begin his vocal audition.  The boy arose, gave his music to the accompanist at the ginormous piano, then nervously took his place on the "X" marked on the floor as instructed by Mumbles.  He began his number, revealing a lovely tenor voice, and as his fear seemed to subside a bit, a delightful personality emerged.  The kid was really nailing it!  Nailing it, that is, until Mumbles held up a hand and yelled, "STOP!"  The boy, mortified and shocked, stopped mid-note, and looked down at his accuser with worried eyes.

Then this pompous old bearded jerk proceeded to tell this sweet boy all of the ways that he had failed with this particular piece.  He gave him fierce criticism that was far from constructive, then told him to start again. Shocked and shaking, the boy began again.  But it was hopeless. Fear had returned to stay, and the man finally cut him off once again with a "Thank you.  That is all."  Defeated, the boy exited and sat down.  His face was so red it permeated to the tips of his earlobes.

I watched as, one by one, this man berated each young applicant, always with a great deal of mock exasperation and stinging words. Every once in a while, he'd decide he liked someone, and would let them finish their number.  This, however, was rarely the case.

Looking back, I'm pretty shocked at my reaction to all of this.  I didn't crumble in fear.  I think I was pretty sure by then that I didn't want to attend this school, with this group of hostile teachers.  I already knew I wanted to go to Syracuse, if they chose me.  So, I honestly had no anxiety.  None at all.  I liked my prepared song, "Cockeyed Optimist" from South Pacific.  It had an easy range, and gave me a chance to show a little personality. And besides, there was a full audience of parents out there for which to perform!  I decided to focus on that and forget about the pompous jerk who would most certainly be cutting me off!!

When my name was called, I handed my music to the accompanist and walked calmly to my mark.  I smiled at the crowd, and nodded for her to begin. As my intro was playing, I looked up and spotted my Dad, standing, in the back of the room.  He stood out, not only because all the other parents were sitting in chairs. Dad stood in the back, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, with a look of intense FEAR on his face.  He was terrified!

I flashed him a quick smile before beginning my number.  It was the best I could do.  I was proud of it.  Mumbles DID, in fact, stop me, about three quarters of the way through my song.  He gave me a few notes, then asked me to begin again.  I did. This time he let me finish.  I was satisfied with that. But as I turned to walk off, I glanced back at Dad.  He was still standing, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.  But on his face was the biggest, warmest, proudest smile I'd ever seen.  I put it there.  Dad was proud.  Really, really proud.  Can I tell you how amazing that felt?

I didn't get accepted at CCM.  I did go to Syracuse University, where I performed in many shows, as well as some after graduation.  Dad attended almost all of them.  He always offered a big hug and a "nice job!" after each one, always telling me he was proud of me.  But none of those reactions were as wonderful as that day in Cincinnati.  That's the day when I not only calmed my Dad's fears, but I made him believe in me.

Thanks for Reading!!