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Music to My Ears

Bracha Rosman

Don’t they get it? Don’t they realize that I have feelings too? I mean, I know I laugh about it, but it’s only to cover up my hurt. You know, like the saying goes — “If you can’t beat them, join them.” But you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about, so I’ll get straight to the point.

Monday, September 16, 2013

I’m what they call tone-deaf. Don’t worry, baruch Hashem, my ears work just fine. I can even hear a pin drop. What I can’t do, though, is sing.

I don’t know why I can’t carry a tune. It’s not like I don’t like to sing. In fact, I actually love to sing.… Well, let me rephrase that. I used to love to sing. Not anymore. Singing and I are simply not synonymous.

At first, when I was little, it didn’t bother me. I’d just belt out a tune whenever I wanted and wherever I was. I had no idea that what I thought was beautiful music made those around me cringe. As I grew a bit older, I began to notice the odd expressions on people’s faces whenever I began to sing. I tried not to think too much about what their scowls meant, but all too soon I found out.

“Tova!” my brother would shout over my crooning. “Will you quit it? You’re hurting my ears!”

Or sometimes it sounded like this: “For goodness’ sake, Tova,” my sister would harp, “can’t you sing somewhere else … like at the North Pole?”

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