Shut Up and Give Me the Mic Read Free Page B

of my report cards stated).
    Early in my sixth-grade year, auditions were held for a solo in the glee club. I had always sung in music class, but so did everyone else. This was the first time I had to audition for something. Like all the others, I went down to sing for the glee club conductor, Mrs. Sarullo, who was also my teacher. A dark, mothering Italian woman, Mrs. Sarullo was easy to like and knew how to handle her class. She was a lot of fun, but nobody’s fool. She nicknamed me “Hood” because of my pointy shoes and obvious desire to look like a dirtbag. It was a hell of a lot better than “Snots.”
    I walked into the “cafe-gym-itorium” for my audition, Beatle boots clacking loudly on the floor. Mrs. Sarullo sat at the piano, awaiting her next victim. I don’t remember if I was nervous or not (I probably was. Who isn’t?), and I don’t remember what song I sang. All I remember is Mrs. Sarullo stopped the song halfway through and exclaimed, “This boy can sing like a bird!” I can? “Hood, you’ve got a beautiful voice!”
    And just like that, my life was changed.
    I not only got the glee club solo, but Mrs. Sarullo smiled her big, toothy smile down upon me, and I was the center of attention . . . in choir. Which is where I remained for all my school years. It was the one place where people thought I was special. Add to that, I now knew I brought something to any rock band: I was a singer!
    CLICK. (Sound of a tumbler in a combination lock falling in place.)
    Each year the school had a Spring Concert, and of course the sixth-grade glee club’s was the featured performance. The plan was for the choir to sing first, then I would enter for my solo on cue. The glee club headed down to the stage and I had a bit of time to kill. I made my way to the side of the stage for my entrance. When I heard my cue, I walked out onto the stage to unusually wild applause and cheering. I was blown away! I hadn’t even sung yet.
    It turned out I was late, and the choir had for several minutes been repeating my musical cue over and over, waiting for me. Be that as it may, the audience reaction when I walked out on the stage changed me forever. This was what I wanted. This is what I needed. I had to experience that rush of audience reaction again and I wouldn’t stop until I did.
    WHEN I MOVED TO seventh grade the following year, Mrs. Sarullo—for reasons unbeknownst to me—moved up to the junior high school as well. Unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts, and a lack of room in the class, I was unable to get into Concert Choir, a daily class for singers. Bummer.
    A few days into the school year, I ran into Mrs. Sarullo in the hall and she asked me how choir was going. While she handled bothgeneral education and glee club as a teacher in elementary school, as a junior-high-school teacher she was solely relegated to teaching social studies. I told my “choral fairy godmother” I wasn’t in the choir, and she became enraged. “We’ll see about that!” she said as she stormed off down the hall.
    The next day I got a note from the office saying my schedule had been changed and I was now in Concert Choir. As I said before, there I remained until the end of my school days. There I was special. There I was somebody. I don’t have fond memories of school—no glory days for me—but I loved singing in choir. It was my only solace. Thank you for that, Dolores Sarullo, wherever you are. Thank you for recognizing and championing my talent. Thank you for making me feel special when I needed to feel special. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were a great teacher.
    AS I REFLECT ON these pivotal moments in my life, the realization sets in that relatively few life experiences make us who we are, define us as individuals, and set the course by which our lives will be guided. It’s terrifying. Not that I wasn’t aware of this before, but setting it down in words makes me painfully aware of the arbitrariness of it all