A short vignette:

Last weekend I went to my 45th high school reunion from the Hopkins School in New Haven.  The first event was a reception for my class at Rudy’s bar/restaurant on Chapel Street.  I went there with Carol and my mom, showing up 15 minutes before showtime.

When I walked into the room there was one person there: David Kimberly, looking at his cellphone.  I walked up to him, and upon seeing me he grabbed me and gave me a bear hug.  We were both laughing at this point, and he reminded me that five  years ago we had just missed each other at this same event.

“Wait a minute!” I said. “‘This is my father’s world’ in three, two, one…”

And we both started singing the words to a hymn which meant so much to both of us.

This is my father’s world, and to my listening ears,

All nature sings and ’round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my father’s world, I rest me in the thought

Of rocks and trees of skies and seas,

His hand these wonders wrought.”

Dave sang the melody and I sang a simple (mostly parallel thirds) harmony, for which he complimented me between lines.

Of course, there is more to the story to this.  When I arrived at Edgewood School in the fourth grade, David was the smartest kid in the class.  Within a few months I established myself as the smartest kid in the class, pushing David down to second banana.  He accepted this change graciously, but I always felt that there was a bit of distance between us.

In sixth grade we had a teacher (who I will not name) who had little or no musical ability, but was by her position in charge of the class play, which that year was to be “Carousel”. She held auditions with her and the fourth-grade teacher as judges.

Her auditions required singing the lead soprano part in a song from the play.  Of course, this part was too high for many of the kids.  Some dropped down an octave, which was frowned upon.  However, two of us, Jonny Blitman and I, could ALMOST sing the song, and with great strain, huffing, and puffing, did so.  The teacher rolled her eyes up in the air, and the class got a good laugh at Jonny’s and my expense.

When it came time to award the roles, they were given one-by-one in public, much like choosing up sides in a stickball game, or the NFL draft.  I settled for lesser and lesser parts in my mind (the Starkeeper went to Alan Spatz) until finally there were no parts left.  I had been given no part.  I was heartbroken.

(Dave reminded me that he had initially been given the lead role of Billy Bigelow, but was replaced by Ken Berman when his voice began to change.)

Not only did I get no part, I gained the reputation of someone who could not sing.  This was counter to the fact that my brother Howie and I sang constantly at home, old Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel mainly, improvising harmonies on the fly.  These private experiences did nothing to dispel the notion set forward by the teacher.

One day the class was sent on some kind of program, and Dave and I were asked to put away all the chairs.  In a cheery mood, we began to sing.  For some reason, Dave started to sing the Protestant hymn “This is my father’s world.”  As I did with Howie, I joined in with an improvised harmony, and it sounded quite good.  At the end, Dave said “Wow, Eddie, you have a good voice!”

A weight of self-doubt and shame was lifted from my shoulders by that simple compliment.  No, I was not a bad singer, I was a good singer!  I knew that, but it was so hard in the ecosystem of the sixth grade classroom to go against the teacher’s biases.

I thanked and I thank David Kimberly, my friend and classmate who told me I was a good singer, and helped an eleven year-old boy feel better about himself.