Children Sing!
“When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit
Several years ago, I did not expect to be the biggest brother to a group of kids with special talent in music. I was hesitant, really, because I feared the responsibility that I must shoulder if I committed to taking care of them. Initially, I was just a fan, admiring them from afar. Then the fan became a friend and I eventually took on the role of becoming their so-called “Kuya”, the big brother. These kids were the children’s choir of our parish.
Before I joined them to be their pianist, the kids’ singing was accompanied by a singular guitar, played by their mentor, Ate Rowena. Sometimes, they would sing acapella, especially if the songs were difficult and they needed more guidance from a conductor, which Ate Rowena did double duty. But most of the time, the songs they would sing was just a stripped-down, “back to basics” version. Yet somehow, they sounded magical because the layers of music were so organic you can sense the palpable beauty of their natural voices that were giving life to an otherwise dull song.
One day, I had the courage to approach them and their mentor with the intention of just giving them a big compliment which they deserved. It really took me a couple of months to actually gain the strength to do this because, like a typical fan, I felt intimidated in the presence of my idol(s). Ate Rowena got excited when I came over because she knew that I had played the church organ at one point in my life. In fact, she had been eyeing me from the choir stands since I started showing up for the mass, hoping I would approach them one day.
She then asked me if I would be kind enough to join them for practice and provide them some input on their singing, which I felt honored and embarrassed at the same time because it was not my place to do such a thing. My knowledge in music was mediocre. I just knew how to play the organ. And that’s about it. I was no maestro. But I gladly obliged because I felt I had to do it. I joined them for a practice that Saturday. This became the start of my life with these kids. Fate somehow guided me to find my way into their paths. To be honest, they were one of the big reasons why I would travel 3 hours every weekend: so that I could spend time with them, accompany their voices and eventually, guide the whole congregation in singing during church services. I felt that I had purpose in going to church. I felt significant, and I felt that I belonged to something substantial.
The children’s choir’s official name was very clever, The C Minors. Not my idea, by the way, but clever nonetheless. To become a member, there were basically two requirements: number one, they should fit the age group- usually 9 thru 12; and number two, they should be diligent at attending the choir practice and eventually, the mass. Frankly, the quality of the voice did not matter, and was not a major criterion to become a member of the choir. But we made them audition anyway. Just for the fun of it.
I remember this one kid who auditioned with one of the most memorable performances: not that she blew us away with her piece but she gave us the title of the song in numerical form. Let me explain.
Typically during auditions, we would ask their name, what grade they were in, and the song that they would sing. This was also a way to tell us if we would assign this child to the soprano group or the alto group. We only divided them into two voices, to make it less complicated for us in teaching them. (It was bad enough to sshhh them at mass, and we did not want to make things more complicated by combining more than four voices together. Teaching music and disciplining children are two major job descriptions, if you ask me, and we did both.)
Anyway, when we asked this kid what song she would sing for us, she told us a random number (well not really random because she repeated this number multiple times when we tried to make sure that we were not hearing things).
“89845”, she said.
“What?, me and Ate Rowena asked.
“89845”, she confirmed.
“Why don’t you sing it for us”.
Then suddenly, with a vibrato voice, she belted out, “Heto akoooooo, basing-basa sa ulaaaaan, walang masisilungaaaan”.
Appparently, 89845 was the corresponding number of Aegis’ “Basang Basa sa Ulan” in the karaoke machine. It was both her audition piece and her go-to karaoke song.
It was a “YES” for both us. And she became soprano from thereon.
We also encountered kids that could not tell the difference between the key of C from the key of G, and their singing voice was mostly monotone. Most of these kids that were not (should I say) spectacular at singing would typically not have enough patience and eventually stopped showing up for rehearsals. They were not born to be members of the choir, apparently. But those who were diligent enough to stay and stick to the routine were able to develop their voices as time passed. They eventually became good singers because, those who had talent in singing were enough to make a big influence on the non-singers, and eventually convert them to become good at what they did. I think that was the magic of the children’s choir. It made the voices of these kids heard throughout the church: loud, clear and incredibly delightful.
We never thought that the group would take off as much as we expected them to be. For these kids, they were just having fun. They would consider the Saturday practice as part of their play time. They enjoyed what they were doing. To get compliments from church-goers were just a bonus, but I do not think that it mattered to them as it did for me and Ate Rowena. As long as they were together, nothing in the world seemed to bother them. They were all having fun. And I think, that was more important than having a great voice.
Soon, their repertoire of songs grew wider because I have been saving so many music sheets from my personal collection, some of them from just memory, that I wanted to teach to a choir if I was given an opportunity. I was never given that chance until I met them. Some songs were so memorable that it became associated with the C Minors.
Soon after, they were invited to sing for other parishes in our province, and to some major Diocesan events that involved celebrating the mass with the Bishop. At one point, their voices were used as a background music for a TV documentary special that was aired during the Christmas Holiday on national TV. I was the proud “kuya”.
But this is not about the accolades they received. This is about them singing, and having fun at what they did. Their main concern was to sing during practice and the church service. They looked forward to the “recess” in between practice so they could play outside while waiting for us to resume.
They still talked and teased each other silently when the priest was getting carried away with his homily and the mass was stretching longer than expected. They got excited with little things: a candy as a prize for showing up early, a pat in the back for doing a good job in a solo section of a song, an applause from the parishioners after every mass. Little things that would sound irrelevant to us but were more than enough to make their day complete.
Goofing around while hosting a game during our annual Christmas Party.
During Christmas season, we would organize a Christmas party for them which they always looked forward to. We had games with simple prizes which they would be ecstatic to win. We also handed out rewards for best Christmas presentation, which was usually a dance number of whatever popular song that was playing on the radio or TV at the time. We also gave out awards for the kids that were good examples to everyone. We gave recognition to their character, which what mattered more, especially if you were serving for the church. We did not single out someone because of the quality of his or her voice because each and everyone of them was unique. This was also the reason why we would rotate the soloists in every mass, so we could give everyone their “big break”. That was what we called it then-break. “Today, is your break, you’re doing a solo”, which, to most of them, exciting and nerve wracking at the same time. But they all survived their individual performances.
When I left for America ten years ago, there was a void that these kids left in my heart which took me years to fill up. That final Sunday, when it was time for me to say goodbye, I was fighting back tears the moment I touched the keys of the keyboards, because I did not know when I would be able to play for them again. The kids did not expect my announcement after we sang for the mass. I thought it was for the best to make goodbyes less dramatic and thus save ourselves from the spectacle that would have unfolded because I knew from my heart that I was about a hairline close to bawling in telenovela fashion. When one of the kids was about to cry and started hugging me, I said, “stop” and cracked a joke. I also told them to put an end in making a big fuss about me leaving for the US because I would eventually come back. I told them that I will try to go back home the next year, maybe for Christmas, so we could all celebrate the season with excitement and renewed joy. However, it took me three years to see them again.
Looking at old pictures and remembering the stories about them made me want to open my worn-out song book and play our songs again, hoping to hear their voices in the background of my subconscious.
Having fun with the new members when I came back to visit, with volunteers and friends that took my place.
Most of them have grown up and graduated from being choir members when I returned for a visit. And yet, even after years have passed, I still felt their excitement when we saw each other again and realized that distance and time did not affect our relationship. I guess the saying applies to them: once a C Minor, always a C Minor.
Then I would happen to chance upon the many good things they have done in their individual lives: some ended up being health care workers and teachers, some were mathematicians and builders, some are mothers, or fathers and some are still artists and singers.
I can’t believe how time has flown, and then I realize that, even though life has separated us by history and miles, we are all still friends in one way or another. All I can say is that I can never be prouder of the strides they have taken ever since they sang their very first audition song.
One day, we will all get together again, with my arthritic hands on the piano, as they sing their own version of The Lord’s Prayer, or maybe even the song, 89845. There will be four different voices now: soprano, alto, tenor and bass, as all of them have grown up to be great singers with varied vocal ranges. And everyone at church, or even beyond, will hear their voices again: loud, clear, and most importantly, organic and yet still incredibly delightful.
This is the last photo taken by my friend during my last mass with the kids.
I wish I have more photos, particularly the early ones, but most of them are probably lost in time. At least I have the memories to remember them. And this one story I wrote.
December 31, 2020
kaiyak nemen to.. hehe
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