Dream killers

My grandmother had music in her soul. She dreamed of singing jazz or blues in a New York City club; she settled for the shower and my wedding. In the early years, before her dream was dead and buried beneath shots of whiskey and bitterness, club owners would allow her to sit on a hard bench outside their offices and wait all day for a chance to audition that never materialized, while pretty, more acceptable girls, some with a voice, some not, came and left. Her mother belittled her, demanding she get a real job; insisting no one wanted to hear some ugly fat black girl from Harlem sing nothing no how. So, she let a man make her feel pretty and loved and special while helping to kill her dream.

My dad had music in his soul and a brain in his head. He dreamed of playing the saxophone like John Coltrane or Charlie Parker. Or even better. The grandmother who raised him told him to forget the fairytales and get a job. His mother beat the dream out of him daily for eighteen years, blaming her own failure to achieve the fame she sought on his birth. He buried his dream beneath beer and gin, but managed to live a productive life, if not a fulfilling one, working for the same company until he died of a broken soul at 47.

My mother had music in her soul and a brain in her head. She studied opera with an esteemed Austrian voice instructor who had more faith in my mother than she could summon for herself. No one wants to listen to a black opera singer she told herself. This after having attended so many job interviews with her more acceptable classmates post high school graduation, and being turned away despite her straight A grade point average from a private Catholic school. After so much, “no, you cannot apply” and “no, you’ll just not do,” she internalized the lesson for herself and did what she could to have a fulfilling life – she got married (and divorced), had a child and traveled to almost every continent. But she only sang in the privacy of her home with her not-so-appreciative child as the audience.

I have music in my soul. I studied ballet. I participated in musical theater from elementary school through college. I was a straight A student throughout my education. I spoke at my college graduation. But I never had a dream. I saw what dreaming had done to those I loved. Not worth the heartache, my very young self decided. I only wanted what was clearly attainable; what I was good at, what society would not begrudge me. I wanted to be invisible, make no waves. I didn’t want to be a doctor or lawyer that people would resent and never seek. I decided that being a teacher was a safe choice; and, most importantly for me, a mother and a wife.

Now, I push my son and my husband – my students, friends and acquaintances – to dream and to pursue those dreams. I am the cheerleader; the enthusiastic voice at your back saying: Dream! You can do this! That is my purpose: to encourage those around me to be who they dream to be. I fan the flames the dream killers try to extinguish.