A PENLESS CAROL

Day 5 Task 1 Success and Failure

D5T1 - Day 5 Task 1

Success and Failure
Carol Marsella

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do.
I'm half crazy, all for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish marriage.
I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet
Upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.

As a little girl, I loved to sing. I learned songs in my school.

My grandfather's clock was too tall for the shelf
So it stood 90 years on the floor.

I learned songs from my foster father.

Over hill over dale
We will hit the dusty trail

And from my foster uncles, (when they had enough beer in them.)

From the halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli...

Anchors Away, my boys...

Nothing can beat the US Air Force!

As those caissons go rolling along!

We are proud to claim the title of United States Marines!

And then one day, I went to church. (Not an easy task considering I thought all the nuns walking solemnly in columns, two by two, into the large Gothic building all dressed identically in head to toe black were all... witches!) I sneaked in to see what all the fuss was about.

Such music I heard in there.

Holy Holy Holy
Lord God Almighty
Early in the morning,
My song shall rise to Thee.

Amazing Grace...
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost,
But now I am found...
I was blind, but now I see.

I sang.

At the park, I sang. At school, I sang.

I sang while I did my chores in the foster home, and when I ate my supper. I sang in the shower and at the park. I sang while I rode my bike and when I walked to school. I even sang when I climbed my Giving Tree and sat in its branches.

I sang.

I became known throughout my neighborhood as the little girl who sings.

Doe Ray Mi... Doe Ray Mi... The first three notes just happen to be... Doe Ray Me.

I rember standing next to my desk in the third row from the right one suny morning when I was in the second grade. That was the day I learned about our flag. The beautiful banner that hung in our classroom that we all pledged our allegiance to every morning. What a wonderful story it was too, and guess what. They told that story in a song!

Oh say, can you seeeeeeeeee...
By the dawn's early light...

Oh, I thought that song was the most beautiful song of all.

From then on, I was still singing, but I was singing the Star Spangled Banner.

As you can well imagine, it wasn't long before I was being politely asked to stop singing. And I tried to stop; I really did. It was no use. I'd sit for a minute or two and suddenly like a cannonball being shot from a cannon: Oh say can you see... would simply burst forth from my being with a force all its own.

Soon, I began to get punished for singing.

They even had the priest come to speak to me to see if I was possessed. They determined I had a singing demon in me.

I was called to Father O'Brien's office in the rectory. Such a dismal place, that rectory was. Dark brown tile floor. Dark brown paneled walls. A door with no windows in it, that once closed, sealed out all the light, making it darker and dismal-er. The walls were bare; no pictures, except one tiny faded portrait of our Lord, painted by a student long ago, who'd gone on to fame and fortune.

Father O'Brien had an office, but I was not allowed in there. I guessed it was a holy place, and demon possessed children were not allowed inside lest they contaminate it. He walked me up and down the depressive, darkened hallway with his hands holding his rosary the whole time. The cross swung precariously back and forth as he slowed his cadence to speak. "Carol," he started, looking grim, "if you want to get to heaven someday, you must stop all this singing. Do you want to get to heaven?"

"Oh yes, Father," I answered, without blinking.

"Good, Child. Kneel down, and pray to Father God to help you in this - your time of need. And He will hear you. And He will help you."

I knelt down on the cold tile floor and clasped my hands together. Closing my eyes as tight as I could, I prayed with everything in me to be able to resist the need to sing.

"Please God," I whispered over and over, "Please God. Please God. Please Please Please...I want to go to heaven someday."

Father O'Brien finally spoke while I continued my silent plea to God, with one eye open. "I am going to give you a special blessing right now that will help you to resist the urge to sing. Soon you will never feel the need to sing again." He raised both hands heavenward and spoke with a tremor to his voice. "May God our Father bless you; and, by His authority, I bless you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen."

"Oh! Thank you, Father!" I leaped up, unable to contain my enthusiasm. "I know I will be a good child now. I will not sing anymor--"

"Good. Go. Get out. It's time for my dinner." He pointed to the exit, and then turned and went back to his office slamming the door behind him. I was alone in the cold, brown, hallway with the shaded window at one end, and the door to outside at the other.

I turned slowly and approached the door with some degree of trepidation, because the hall became darker and darker as I moved along. All that talk of demons and the dark pit of hell frightened me. I stood still, sucked in a great quantity of air, held my breath, and lunged forward. Grabbing the door, I yanked it open, and bolted through it headlong into the monsignor.

I was going to hell again. This time it was for running.

In the years that followed, I was going to hell because I was left handed, and because I liked to dance, because my eyebrows were very thick, and because I needed glasses.

In the summertime, I tanned so dark, there were some folks in my pre-civil rights, middle class, white neighborhood who used to call me the white-nigger.

When someone finally gathered up the courage to ask me if I was a Negro, I answered truthfully. "I donno." I shrugged, completely unaware of the significance of the question. "I have never met my parents. Could be, I guess."

Eyebrows raised, and judgmental, I-told-you-so nods made their way around the circle of adults, attention shifting from one to the other in turn, until all eyes were back on me. "Oh," said one of the more outspoken church ladies on our block, "So you're a bastard, too!"

Wanting to know what a Negro and a bastard were, and having no particular adult to whom I could go with such questions, I went to confession to ask the priest in the secret room. I told him what people were saying to me and - you guessed it. I was going to hell again; this time it was for saying bad words.

This continued throughout my childhood and into my teenage years, until one glorious moment. I had just witnessed one of the black-robed superiors chastise my foster brother, Ron for drawing. Ronnie is an artist of the highest degree. Natural, gifted. Never had a lesson. There was a fundamental wrongness to this castigation that sent a wave of enlightenment flowing, like an electrical charge, through my entire being.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The title of this writing allows as to how I will share my opinion on what was my success and failure in life. First of all, I will say they did not arrive in that order. For me, it was failure first and then success. I think I have shared enough, now, so that you will understand my reasoning on this topic.

My greatest failure in life was in allowing anyone to convince me I was less than what I am, which is a child of the most high God. I was created and designed by Him and bestowed with a voice to praise Him and the talent to sing so that others are drawn to sing praises to Him too.

The greatest success in my life came to me the moment that I looked heavenward and cried out to God, "I know you love me. I know you did not give me this voice and the desire to sing so that you could then punish me with eternal damnation. I know my voice is from You, and I am going to sing!"

From that moment I learned to channel my vociferous energies and sing at more appropriate times.

And I sang!


Have I won every contest I have ever entered? No.

Have I taken the highest mark in every test for which I sat? No.

Am I, indeed, the world's greatest singer? No.

How then, can I say I have had no other failures?

I have never failed again, because I have never given up. And I never will.


This is my neverending story...
1,668 Words

Carol Marsella
Still singing!

  A WDC Must Read! 

Variations - 'The Road Not Taken'  (E) What if Shel Silverstein, Poe, Emily Dickinson or Tolkien had written Robert Frost's poem? #1428182 by Ben Langhinrichs

** Image ID #1455312 Unavailable **

BE SURE TO CHECK OUT MY AMAZING ADOPTEES:
fiercepeace AND ~Avalia of Len~

I am proud to be a member of the following groups, as well:

"Invalid Item"   "The Talent Pond"   "Invalid Item" 
"Invalid Item"   "The Writer's Workshop"   "Invalid Item"