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When I was very young, I had an accident and was in pain and in bed for many months. When I got better, I was very excited to be alive. I moved quickly, laughed, talked loudly and even sang my own songs. But the time in bed had set me back. I was clumsy and fell down a lot. It was the same with singing. A second grade teacher's evaluation was, "Dickie is loud, enthusiastic, but not very tuneful."
I grew up in rural Indiana. My family, for many generations, was part of a faith-based, farm-church community. In my home there was no radio, and musical instruments were not part of the culture. The particular church we attended, had somewhat broken with tradition, they included congregational singing and had a piano. As a child, the only music I experienced was unison hymn singing with no formal leader, accompanied by an enthusiastic piano.
Then there were some other events: my mother became ill, and loud, enthusiastic boys were not appreciated. Finally, when I was 10 years old, our family moved far away to another state--a new town, a new house, a new school. I was in a strange land, where small, clumsy, country boys were not appreciated. I shut all my laughter, my own music, my joy away in my "secret garden."
My family had moved to southern California. Our new town was a college town, and we attended the premier large church in the area. They had a very large pipe organ and a central choir loft above and behind the pulpit. The director was the college choral music professor, the organist was a renowned professor of organ. The Sunday choir had more than 60 voices, including many very gifted and trained singers. For the first time, I heard "music" and I loved it!
Yet, all this wonderful sound and music was up front and high quality. I was in the pews with my family. My inner voice, still remained a loud, enthusiastic, untrained child, frequently shushed and disciplined to sit still. I was in church! Finally, I learned to listen and experience the wonder of music quietly, without squirming and making a fuss.