My first voice teacher was Barbra Streisand

When I was a young girl, my parents tortured me by making me miss Saturday morning cartoons just so I could clean the house. OK, maybe that’s a tad dramatic; but on Saturday mornings I had to vacuum the house, which according to me, was brutal and should be outlawed. Now that I have daughters, I realize it wasn’t an illegal operation for child labor, but just chores. Can you imagine my pain?

So every Saturday, I’d get up early so I could sneak in cartoon watching since cartoons on television were only aired on Saturday mornings. Wouldn’t children today be horrified hearing there weren’t 32 cartoon stations on our only- four-channel TV? Sigh. Life was rough in the ’70s.

Next, a familiar female voice would repeatedly instruct me to “do your chores,” which eventually would break my focus. I’d have to give up the fight, grab the baby blue beast from the hall closet, and literally crank up the record player to such decibels I could tolerate this awful child labor.

That blue Hoover and I had a special love hate relationship from the beginning. Not only had they not invented the automatic forward propelling feature, but she was so loud, she could re-deafen Helen Keller. I dreaded my weekly vacuuming job, but secretly she brought me joy.

During this stretch of precious time, I could be immersed in the tantalizing tunes of my favorite singer – Barbra Streisand. My LP records (aka prehistoric DVDs) were my most prized possessions. Singing along with my one true idol was a passion of mine. I’d try to mimic everything about her voice. The phrasing, her tonality, the emphasis Ms. Streisand placed on acting out the words with vocal punctuation was paramount. Every Saturday morning, I’d sing out with her as soon as the vacuuming started, and abruptly would stop singing with the flip of the power switch.

My fantasy during that time was to be the new Barbra on Broadway. I had read her biography, watched all of her movies and collected all the “Babs” trivia I could get my hands on. I just knew if I practiced singing with Streisand I’d turn into her, and fame and fortune were sure to be around the corner.

Little did I realize that having to sing or belt out over the roar of the Hoover beast would strengthen my vocal chords and develop my voice so I needn’t require a microphone…pretty much anywhere.

At the age of 11, I could belt out torch songs with the precision of a cabaret performer. Now of course genetics had something to do with my vocal prowess; after all, my mom had a lovely voice and my dad had near perfect pitch. But I know the power of my voice was greatly enhanced by weekly chores while belting out along with “No More Tears” (Enough is Enough) the Disco duet by Streisand and Donna Summer from 1979. There is one note in the song that Streisand holds for 50 seconds. I was determined to nail that every time. Thank you, Ms. Streisand.

It wasn’t until college while studying voice that I discovered my vocal power had been enhanced and developed while vacuuming as a child. In fact, my professor spent many semesters trying to undo my Streisand stylings. I still appreciate her talent, but agree she doesn’t follow the standard vocal methodologies necessary to maintain a healthy instrument.

I sang professionally for years. That is until the flow of music in my head dramatically stopped. With the numbing pain of my first child dying, I also buried my singing voice. Sadly, my “music” hasn’t quite returned even 15 years later. It isn’t until I hear an old song that I performed or listen to a singer reminiscent of the time when music was constantly playing, do I realize the quietness in my head.

I recently joined my church choir as the first step in finding my music again. Sadly, I realized my young, vibrant “pipes” won’t return thanks to time and the aging process. I’ll have to be OK with that. Who knows? After more practice, I might start wanting to sing in the shower or alone in the car.

I’d like to listen to Barbra again. I miss my first voice teacher.

Stacey Hatton can be reached at www.laughingwithkids.com.