Feb. 24, 2000 - Thursday
Since his impressive vocalizing display this past
weekend, Harry had seemed to have lost his technique until this morning. It's
possible that he overdid it showing off for his grandfather and made himself
hoarse, or that his raging success from the weekend had him trying too hard
for more; but, whatever the culprit, the symptom was him seemingly swallowing
his tones. I know from learning to sing myself that there are times when your
anatomy, or your mind, plays tricks and things just don't seem to come out right.
Sometimes you can muscle through, though that is rarely good for your voice
and often you're better off going back to simple vocal exercises that allow
you to examine what has gone awry and re-eduacate your muscle on how to do it.
With Harry, it was if he'd breathe in at the same time he'd be trying to speak
and his once loving and pure tones would be strangled. What was more heartbreaking
was his look of apparent disappoint and despair that the sounds weren't coming
out right. Each time his note would abruptly stop, his face would shift from
glee to concern. I would try to tell him it was OK and try to look happy with
his effort, but by appearance he almost certainly knew that something was not
quite as it should have been and he wasn't going to listen to his dad's consoling.
Thankfully, this morning, Harry seemed to rediscover his voice and was again
making happy noises. He's not regained his composure completely and occasionally
would slip back to the awkward sounds of the last couple days, but his technique
was audibly much better. He was so much better than I was inspired to sing for
him myself and pulled out the guitar for a few songs. To my unfettered pleasure,
Harry seemed to enjoy it with vigor, smiling and kicking and waving his little
arms. He got particularly animated when I played a few Van Morrison songs I
know he's heard before. And, almost on cue, he lit up for one of his favorites
- Morrison's Starting A New Life.
