I hadn’t realized, as a child that I listened so continuously I couldn’t sort my own voice out of the cacophony of sounds.

Mr. Smith, the ninth grade music teacher at Hershey High School, knew it rather quickly, though.

Children from the Hershey area rural schools, such as the one I attended in Union Deposit, transferred to Hershey High School after eighth grade. The transition was scary.

There was no automatic way to feel a part of a large school that had a different teacher and a different classroom for each subject plus had over twice as many students in a class as we had known in our country schools. We country bumpkins were used to having one teacher teach all of the subjects for three grades. But we knew we had to try to integrate – we’d be there four years.

“Try out for the chorus,” we were urged: “Everyone makes the ninth grade chorus.” Being in the chorus was a way to feel included right from the start.

I tried out for the chorus. And I didn’t make it. I was the only ninth grade chorus “hopeful” who didn’t make it into the chorus that year. I didn’t have a voice worthy of being part of a group that “everyone” makes. My voice wasn’t worth being listened to. I felt embarrassed and ashamed.

So I resumed listening.