A Song Bird I Ain’t

A Song Bird I Ain’t

I have always enjoyed music.  If I hadn’t taken up electrical work, I might well have been a musician.  But, you can’t do justice to two jobs at the same time.  And I enjoyed the electrical trade.


It has variety (unlike being a washer crammer in a shock absorber factory), interest, feelings of accomplishment, and constant “improvement.”  I also enjoyed the different challenges affiliated with being an electrician.  If I saw something wrong on a job, I just had to fix it.


As a consequence, unless I really had to concentrate on a particular problem or repair, I would sing as I worked.  One day when I thought I was all alone on a job and was enjoying the various challenges and variety, I was singing as I worked.  A voice from behind me said; “Can you sing tenor?”


I was surprised and a little embarrassed and questioned him; “What is tenor?”  He responded; “Ten or twelve blocks away from here.”  I realized that there were some people in the world who did not appreciate my beautiful singing.


Another time I was singing on the job and one of the people that heard me said that I should be on the stage.  I thought; “This sounds better.”  So I asked; “Do you really think so?”  He said: “Yes, the first one out of town.”  So I thought to myself that perhaps my singing was not as good as I thought it was.


One day my sister Kay told me; “Adrian, you should sing solo.”    I replied that I thought I had been doing so.  She said; “I meant – ‘So low no one can hear you.’”


Well, … I can still whistle while I work.


Then the day came when I was working on a job and whistling away.  Two other guys were working in the same room.  One of them also started to whistle as he worked.  I was unable to tell if he thought he could improve my whistling or was trying to harmonize.


Soon we both paused at the same time to catch our breath.  In the silence the third guy piped up and said; “I need to cut back on you guys’ bird seed.”


After that I just concentrated on the electrical work.


Besides, my whistler doesn’t work anymore.


Sorry, Mom.