I Never Was A Soloist

Just this morning, I was telling Stacey about a memory that had just come back to me, after about 26 years of suppression.

When I was in the 3rd grade, our school's music teacher had us put on a recital for the other students. For the recital, we could pick any song we had learned during the school year. We could do a solo, or a duet, or both if we were ambitious. The year was 1983, and my favorite movie was "Annie", so of course, I chose the dramatic, soaring, not-a-dry-eye-in-the-house classic, "Maybe". I was gonna bring the house down, no doubt about it.

During the week before the recital, my best friend Mervet asked me if I would do a duet with her, as she was too scared to sing a solo. Amused at her childish stage fright, I humored her. I assured her she had nothing to worry about, because with a partner like me our duet was going to kill. Especially after "Maybe" brought the crowd to their knees. They'd be demanding an encore from me. Mervet was smart to want to collaborate with me. I still remember the song we picked, "Together Wherever We Go."

"Wherever I go, I know she goes. Amigos. Together." You know, that one.

The day came for the recital. We all piled into the music room. I can't remember if parents were there or not. Looking back, I certainly hope not. One by one, and some two by twos, the 3rd graders performed their songs. As I watched them, something changed in me, and my smug confidence somehow abandoned me. My heart started to pound. My throat closed up. I thought there was a very real chance I might wet myself. I wanted desperately to tell our teacher I changed my mind.

Suddenly I heard my name called. "And next we have Kelly, performing 'Maybe'."

Applause, applause.

I made my way up to the front of the room, successfully avoiding eye contact with everyone present. My teacher began the first few notes of the piano accompaniment, then it was my cue. I looked at the crowd of faces, and froze. Nothing came out. Not one note.

She played the intro again.

I stayed frozen.

Kindly, she began a third time, and started singing the words to help me along. I tried to squeak out a few words, but could only manage a whisper. I thought my teacher was doing a fine job singing the song on her own, so I just kind of gave up and let her do it. Mercifully, she ended the song after the first verse. There were a few giggles, a sympathetic smattering of applause, and I quickly sat down next to Mervet, covered my face with my hands, and cried.

Mervet was as comforting as she could be, considering the fact that in a few minutes she'd have to go back onstage with this sniveling mess next to her.

"C'mon," she whispered, "you were fine. You did great." But even as she held my hand, the look on her face was one of sheer terror.

After a few more songs, I was due up onstage again. Mervet somehow pulled it together enough to put a smile on her face and drag me up next to her. We stood there, looking at the crowd. The piano accompaniment started, and Mervet began to sing.

"Wherever we go, Whatever we do, We're gonna go through it together..." She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and jumped in: "We may not go far, but sure as a star..."

And just like that, everything was okay.


Flash forward 26 years.

After sitting on the sofa this morning, enjoying a nice leisurely cup of coffee with the wife (after telling her the above story), I got a surprise visit from my dear old aunt. So I immediately called FCI to schedule my baselines tests and initial ultrasound. I like the fact that we are starting again right away, and the fact that this time we are getting help from the experts. I'd actually be really excited about it, except for the fact that Stacey can't go with me tomorrow.

She is going to drop me off for my appointment at 7:15 on her way to work, and in I go by myself. I'm not a huge baby or anything, I mean I can handle a doctor's appointment by myself, but this process, the whole "making a baby" journey has been one we've done together, every step of the way. It's been really important to us that we do this as a team as much as possible. I mean, this is OUR baby, not just mine, and we want to make sure everyone is clear on that. Going to the doctor to start try #4 without her feels weird and wrong.


I never was a soloist.