Perfect Pitch

Image by Davor Krajinović from Pixabay

At Isa’s small-town school, choir membership was mandatory. It was also torture. Despite treatment, the congenital paralysis of Isa’s left vocal cord had never fully resolved and she spoke with a slight rasp in her voice.

The school’s music teacher, Mr. Dubinsky, refused to excuse Isa from choir, instead instructing her to mouth the words, “so you don’t throw the other children off.”

Isa had other ideas. If she had to join choir, she was going to sing. No one but Mr. Dubinsky seemed to mind. She served detention after detention for her defiance until he finally realized she would not stop singing. That’s when he called her mother.

“Mrs. Silva, your daughter is disrupting the choir. She’s tone deaf and throws off the other students. She ignores my every effort to encourage her to decrease her volume. Something needs to be done about her.”

“Mr. Dubinsky,” Isa’s mother began, smiling. “You don’t encourage her to sing quietly. You insist on her silence, while requiring her to attend every choir practice. You punish her for participating, which is what choir is supposed to be about.”

“Now just…”

“I haven’t finished.” Mrs. Silva’s smile had vanished. “First of all, it’s Dr. Silva, not Mrs. Second, Isa is not tone deaf. Her vocal disability in no way detracts from her perfect pitch. You are discriminating against her. I’ve already raised this with the school board, and you may be certain I will follow through.”

Mr. Dubinsky’s face had turned red. He looked like a cartoon-figure about to blow its top. Undeterred, Isa’s mother continued.

“Are you aware that my daughter is an accomplished concert violinist who has played with the Philharmonic?”

The choir director deflated, answering through gritted teeth. “No, I was not.”

“Did you ever ask Isa if she might like a different role in the choir, or, for that matter, show any real interest in her or any of the other children in the choir?”

Mr. Dubinsky’s face reddened again, this time in embarrassment. “You should have come to me,” he mumbled.

“I should not have had to,” Isa’s mother replied. “My daughter won’t be your problem after this week. She’s been offered a spot at the New York Performing Arts Academy next September. We’re moving in anticipation of that.”

Dubinsky’s sigh of relief cut short when she added, “I still intend to ensure that you never try to crush another child’s love or enthusiasm for music again.”

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Thanks to Barb Long for the prompt for this, which came in the form of a story of her own triumph over someone telling her she was tone deaf (though not a teacher).

I was reminded of my own school days. The story of the small-town compulsory choir is mine, and it’s true that I was told to mouth the words, though I didn’t have vocal cord paralysis to explain my apparent lack of singing ability. I took singing lessons as an adult and learned I am not, in fact, tone deaf. If my teacher had taken the time to help me, instead of shoving me to the back and telling me to be quiet, I might have improved.

I borrowed the name Dubinsky from the principal of that same school, as I can’t remember the music teacher’s name. I also changed her gender. The rest is pure fiction, and perhaps a little bit of revenge fantasy. I hope you enjoyed it.

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