Choir and Singing, by Ricky

        In November 2011, in response to the topic “music,” I wrote an account of my acquisition of various tastes in music from youth to adulthood.  My tastes are not limited to just one or two types of music and one sentence therein deals with, not only listening to my favorite march, but also conducting it whenever I hear the song played.  One aspect of music as it relates to me I did not write about – singing.

        From Kindergarten through 6^th grade, first at the Hawthorne Christian School then the Cambridge Elementary School and finally at South Tahoe Elementary School, music is included as part of the required curriculum.  As a result, I learned to sing religious children’s songs and fun or near nonsense songs.  Among the former I recall Onward Christian Soldiers and Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.  In the latter category, I remember, “Skip to My Lou”, “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” and “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

        Sixth grade was the final time I sang in a school Christmas program.  It was not because I did not want to sing but because the 7^th grade and higher did not participate.  Therefore, as I aged into the teen years, the only singing I did was either in the shower (figuratively speaking) or around the campfire on scout campouts.

        As I attained the age of majority at 21, I sang in the choir of my church; not regularly but often enough.  My voice was stuck somewhere between bass and tenor like halfway in between, neither one nor the other dominating. 

        While stationed in Florida as part of the Air Force, I fell in love for the first time; or perhaps had my first major crush on a girl my age would be more accurate.  (I’m not counting the pubescent crush on my 5^th grade teacher).  As a result, I became acquainted with her family for several years.  After I married Deborah who was the best friend of my crush, Charla, we ended up at Brigham Young University where I was a student of law enforcement.

        One day, Deborah told me that Charla’s brother (Vern) was also attending the school and that he is a member of a 50’s band.  She also said the band was playing that night at the student union building and we should go, which is her way of saying, “We’re going!”  We ended up attending the event with another couple from our student-housing complex and shared a table at the side of the room.  There were about 200 students present.

        Before the show began, Deborah found Vern and he joined us at our table for a few minutes.  The musical performance was excellent.  The band played all sorts of 50’s rock music but seemed to feature music by the Beach Boys, which I happen to like.  The band needed to play one more song before intermission.  However, as part of their performance, this song was not to be sung by the band alone.  All four members of the band rushed out into the audience and literally grabbed a person and pulled him to the stage to sing with the band.  Vern came out and grabbed me.

        Of course, I protested just like the other victims were doing but in the end “Deborah made me do it,” (at least that’s my excuse).  At that time in my life, I was introverted, shy, and always maintained a “low profile” so I was very anxious about what was about to happen.  I did not expect a good result from singing an unfamiliar song with no advance rehearsal.  I became even more worried when it was clear that the four victims (all males) will be singing four-part harmony without the band members.  The worst part was having the band members sing their parts, one at a time and each victim had to sing it back.  The others did fairly well as I recall but my anxiety increased when it became clear that my part was last; too much time to think about it.  Then panic set in when Vern sang his part.  It was in the falsetto range and I never sang anything that high since before puberty attacked me.

        As I wrote above, Vern sang his part and I sang it back.  The band selects victims to sing with as a regular part of their performance to be a bit of comic relief I suspect, especially the falsetto part.  When I finished singing the phrases back at Vern, he just stood there with his mouth stuck open for a full second.  By the next second, he and the audience were applauding.  Apparently, I sang the part back perfectly.  The only other time I sang solo and received applause occurred in a weekly scout meeting when I taught the troop the summer camp’s song by singing it to them.  Both back then and on this night my face flushed.

        The four of us victims went on to sing the first verse acapella and band members joined in for the rest; more applause when we were done.  I was relieved it was over.  In spite of a few extra hugs and kisses from Deborah, I cannot remember anytime that I have sung solo to any audience after that night.

        The name of the song?  Barbara Ann by the Beach Boys.

© 8 April 2013 

About the Author 

 I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

The Females in My Life, by Ricky

Like everyone else on this planet, the first woman in my life was my mother.  Mom was the care giver when I was young, but she was also the rat-fink of my life.  She would always tell my father of my daily misdeeds and he was the disciplinarian in the family.  During that time period, discipline consisted of not too gentle spankings, so I learned to fear both of them.  Mom was also the one who came to Minnesota, while I was living with my grandparents, to be a bridesmaid for her sister and then did not take me back to California when she left Minnesota after the wedding.  I think I subconsciously resent her even to this day for leaving me and for being a rat-fink.

The second woman was my father's mother.  After I was born she came to live with us for about one year.  I don't remember that time period much and as I grew up, I did not see her very often.  The next female in my life was my beloved Bonnie, a black and white collie, who became the best baby sitter a two-year old toddler could not escape; that is until I learned to take her with me when I left the yard.  Sadly, she got distemper and passed before her first birthday.  I don't remember if I grieved for her very much.  I only now remember her from old photographs and the stories my parents told me over time.

Next was a girl in my Kindergarten class at the Hawthorn Christian School in Hawthorn, California.  Her name was Sandra Flora.  She was like a girlfriend to me, or more precisely, I was a boyfriend to her.  With long curly hair and the full dress that little girls wore at that time, she looked like a young Shirley Temple.  I carried her Kindergarten school photo in my wallet well into my 40's when I finally lost it.

The next woman in my life would be my mother's mother.  I lived with her and my grandfather for two years on a farm in central Minnesota from the age of 8 until two-weeks before I turned 10.  She was a reasonable surrogate mother but at 9-years of age, I ended up with a mild ‟school boy crush” on my 4^th grade teacher, Mrs. Knoll.  She was a very young beautiful lady and in her second year as a teacher.  The crush was mild because she was married so I knew I had no chance and I was not quite into full blown puberty.  My 3^rd grade teacher, Mrs. Sorensen, was a good but matronly teacher and thus of no interest to me.

Back on the farm, my aunt Darlene, my mother's younger and only sister, would visit occasionally with her husband.  When I was 8, I was a ring-bearer (like Bilbo and Frodo) at her wedding.  My younger cousin, Pamela Anderson, was the flower-girl.  There was one other female on the farm that I had a platonic relationship with, at least on my part.  Her name was Peanuts and she was a Guernsey cow.  Her stall was the first one as I would enter the barn and so she became my favorite, almost like a pet.

One week before I turned 10, my mother and new step-father came to Minnesota to pick me up and take me back to California.  They also introduced me to the next female to enter my life, my little baby sister, Gale.  For the next 9 years she and her twin brother and I had a close family relationship.  They were the kids and I was the babysitter.  Not too much personal time for me, but we did have some amount of fun growing up until I went away to college and then the military.  She still lives at our ‟home town” of South Lake Tahoe.

The next female was never alive in the literal sense but she really was a lady.  She was the Skipalong, my step-father's 39 foot cabin cruiser he used as a tour-boat on Lake Tahoe during 1957 and '58.  I was his deckhand in 1958 and I really loved the ‟job” and the boat.  All I had was that one summer with her as the next summer, at the beginning of the season, she sank at a pier while her engine was being overhauled and was sold for salvage.  I still miss her even today as that summer was perhaps the happiest of my childhood.

She had a colorful career.  It is believed she was built in the 1920's in Morris Heights, New York by the Consolidated Shipbuilding Corporation.  She was originally 36 feet long but upon arrival in San Francisco she was modified to 39 feet long and a ‟lookout cockpit” was added to the bow as she began service as a rum runner during Prohibition.

In the Fall of 1958, after that wonderful summer, I developed another school boy crush.  This time it was during full blown puberty and on my unmarried, first year 5^th grade teacher, Miss Herbert.  She was beautiful, young, and had a wonderful personality.  I was in LOVE!  Then she got married over Christmas vacation.  I was devastated.  It appeared to me that I would never get the women I loved, which due to the age differences, is probably a good thing.

The next female arrived at our house on Red Lake Road, in South Lake Tahoe when I was 12.  She was ¾ Oriental Poodle and ¼ Pomeranian—a little, black, shaggy, and “yippy” lap dog.  She bonded to me the first night in our house and became the first female I slept with for the next 9-years.  I was monogamous but she was a very prolific bitch. No! I was not the father of her litters.

After I joined the Air Force, I met my first girlfriend as an adult.  She was the best friend of the woman I would marry 5-years later.  During the intervening years, I also met the woman who taught me about making out and foreplay.  Then there was the woman who took my virginity.  Actually, I guess it was a mutual thing as she did not have to twist my arm to get it.

Then I married Deborah and we enjoyed 27-years and 9-months together before she passed from complications of breast cancer.  During those years, the final women in my life were born to us—our three daughters, one of which made me a grandfather with her 2-daughters.

So those are the women and other females in my life.  I chose not to tell about my two female cats, so be thankful for small favors.

© 23 November 2014  

About the Author 

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.