It's officially a trend. Middle school girls that I teach will sheepishly walk up to me at the end of class and awkwardly (and sometimes almost inaudibly) say to me, "I want you to hear my real voice." They usually do this flanked by at least two cohorts egging them on, but it's obvious that the idea originated from within the girl making the request. Then there are fits of giggles amongst the cohorts followed by a secretive glance from the girl, half dying for me to listen and half begging me to say no so she doesn't have to open her mouth. Always one to accept the opportunity to hear one of my girl's voices alone, I cannot refuse. I sit and smile politely as the girl prepares herself, giggles a little more, and finally.... sings.
The first time it happened, I was mildly offended. Just what did this girl think I didn't know about her voice already that I was going to get from some rendition of Rihanna's "Take a Bow"? I evaded the question multiple times by pointing out that my next class was already coming in, so she'd have to wait until another day. She finally cornered me one day: "Please, Ms. P, I want you to hear my real voice." I put my smile on, and listened to her sing her heart out. Why had I avoided it? Maybe because it's my knee-jerk reaction to run from any sign of individual vulnerability within myself and others? Maybe because I thought it was silly that she considered her seventh-grade version of pop singing her "real" voice, even as I was trying desperately to train every inch of her voice besides? Maybe because I knew she'd want a reaction, but I wasn't quite sure what to say? Maybe because I felt like this was something beyond my control... and I love being in control. Every time a girl asks, my body physically tears between my immediate flight reaction and my deeper desire to hear her voice.... and to understand why she needs me to hear it.
It's never the opera divas who ask (oh yes, I have 8th grade opera divas), or the sight-singing geniuses, or the choir junkies, or even the deathly quiet girls. It is always someone who surprises me. I'm secretly afraid that they ask because they believe that I don't really understand them, just like I secretly believe that every conductor I've ever sung for doesn't really understand me. Part of me hopes they ask me because they trust me, like they want me to hear them and know them at a different level. Maybe they're just looking for someone to give them positive reinforcement about something they like to do. Whatever it is, I hope I give it to them... and that they can't tell how awkward it makes me feel in the one room I never feel awkward in.
I was thinking about this middle school phenomenon one day when I realized that it inherently connected to my affective outcome of one of the seventh grade pieces for the next concert. The piece is called Oye, or in English, "Listen." It was inspired by impoverished children in Mexico who, when asked what message they wanted to give to choirs' audiences around the world, answered that all they wanted... was to be heard. So my girls are going to spend the rest of the year thinking about, discussing, and writing about what it truly means to be heard, to feel heard, to have a voice. I introduced this concept to them a few weeks ago, and it was shocking to see the faces that met mine. They were drawn in by the idea like an ant to a picnic, enthralled by the words coming out of my mouth. So, in the end, maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe that is the secret to teaching middle school girls. Maybe that's why all of these girls want me to sit and listen to them sing alone after everyone else has left for lunch. Maybe, in the end, middle school girls have the same needs as everyone else and ask for it in the only way they know how (with a lot of giggling). Maybe these girls simply have a hunger to be heard.
