From adolescence on I've been frightened of public performance as a solo singer. I've been afraid of public speaking, too, and still am to some degree, but thirty years of teaching has lessened that somewhat. Part of the fear is a long, odd relationship with my own voice. Sometimes I think of it as separate from me; sometimes it's expressive of me. The first is clinical; the other is intimate and, hence, vulnerable.

When my voice changed, it changed in a big way, from little boy alto to lowest second bass. The process took about ten days during the summer after seventh grade. I was twelve. I got hoarse, thought I was sick, realized I wasn't sick, and then I was the deepest voice I knew. Since I was about five feet tall at the time, I made a pretty ridiculous package. A rumbling eighty-five pound twerp--not the person you expect to sound like God.

At first I couldn't control it, either. I talked right at the bottom of the range because I hadn't yet developed the musculature that came later. It was so much work to pick the pitch up that speaking was heavy work. I rumbled. I had to exaggerate my pronunciation to be understood. I've seen that in many teenaged boys, though not at such an unusual pitch.

So I've absorbed a lot of crap from people because I was (and to a degree, still am) comically unsuited to my own voice and because people thought I was lazy or putting on an act while speaking. With time and singing lessons my vocal apparatus developed to where I now can speak with "normal" pitch variation and no longer talk at the bottom of my range, but even yet I get lots of reaction. Last term a student wrote a laughing teacher evaluation of the little guy with the too-low voice. Yesterday at the drugstore the lady behind the counter said "Say 'this...is CNN,' " which I did to her great amusement.

Choir directors love it. They haven't necessarily wanted me for vocal beauty; they've wanted me because I can sing pitches most people can't hit. I love singing, so choirs have been good for me--I can sing without standing out. In many, many years of choir membership I have done a solo only once, and that was because the director demanded it. I never audition for solos.

This past week my current choir director held auditions for the solo parts in the spring tour and home concert. I didn't go. This week he asked me to do one that others had tried for and I hadn't. I don't know what to think of that, but I'm going to do it. I'll be scared too.

This term that same choir director put me in the care of my current voice teacher. Under his instruction I've learned I can do things I didn't know I could do. He already has had me solo in front of the voice studio. I didn't sleep well for two nights ahead, though to my own surprise I wasn't remarkably nervous during the actual performance. Now he wants me to audition for an opera company. The thought of a summer spent doing several operas is plain shocking to me.

I'll do the audition. Again, I'll be scared, too.

Better to be scared and give it a try than to pass up chances and live with regret.