When I was 13 or 14, I don’t remember exactly, the woman known simply to this web site as “my abuser” said something to my mother that I will never forget, because at the time I thought it was just mean and the most horrible thing she ever could have said about me in a million years (but she was forgiven somewhere around 1995). She said, “Carolyn, I think she’s an alto.”

I KNOW, RIGHT????????

I remembered that conversation when I started in my new church choir, and it did not go well at first. It wasn’t that I couldn’t sing… it was that I didn’t fit in. Because I don’t want to hurt anyone, I will limit my comments about my church choir to the simple fact that I can sing high notes… and the people around me were First Sopranos. If you have been in a choir for any length of time, I won’t have to say anything more than that.

Last Sunday, my throat was a little bit scratchy, so I asked if I could sing alto. All of the sudden, my brain was firing faster, because sight-reading harmony is a hell of a lot harder than sight-reading melody. The person next to me was hilarious, and we wrote notes to each other like choir people having fun are supposed to do. It was then that I realized maybe I *am* an alto, because I would sing low notes all day not to have to compete. I don’t compete.

I write notes and have fun.

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