Talents, gifts and intelligence

My recent stroke was very minor, but for a while it was very hard to touch-type with my left hand. Since I make my living by typing, this was a worry. But we installed voice-recognition software on my computer and, if all else failed, I could always dictate into a recorder for someone else to type.

I was grateful that I had not sustained any damage that interfered with speech and thinking — not every stroke victim is so fortunate. And with practice, the ability to type with reasonable accuracy returned quickly.

For me, the really harsh shock came on my first Sunday back in church. I opened my mouth to sing the opening hymn, and what came out was … not my voice. My pitch control was very uncertain, and all vibrato was gone.

It made perfect sense. My brain's ability to control exact placement of muscles on the left side of my body had been impaired, and that meant my vocal cords did not sync up properly. Just as my left foot and hand were no longer quite where I expected them to be, half my vocal apparatus was not obedient to me.

I was surprised at what a devastating blow this was to me. The impairments to my typing and to walking I took in stride, with humor and determination. But to lose my singing voice was emotionally devastating. Why?

I have never made my living by singing; since I can't remember song lyrics, my public performances have always been limited to church or singing around the piano at home, where the music was in front of me. Why did it hit me so hard?

I realized that even before I could read, I could sing. I was a boy soprano with perfect relative pitch. I must have been darling indeed at age 5, singing "Ol' Man River" and "I'll Walk With God."

It didn't matter very much that adults praised my singing; what mattered was that I loved to do it. I loved to harmonize, and had plenty of opportunities, since my family could all sing and did so at every opportunity.

I didn't handle the transition from boy soprano to baritone very well, and at one point, during my mission, I relearned how to produce a pure tone to get rid of some bad habits I had developed. But even then, my voice did whatever I wanted it to do.

What I realized, when my voice went missing last month, was that unlike writing or typing, singing was part of my identity. I could imagine ceasing to be a writer; but who was I if I couldn't sing?