The Person I Was Meant To Be

Ta rum, ta rum, ta rum, ta ra ra ra ra ra rum…. We danced the Mexican Hat Dance for Madame Beaulieu. I was meant to dance, to sing, to recite poetry. That’s all.

In Soldier Pond, Madame Beaulieu was the post mistress and the choir director for Sacred Heart Church. It seems I was in the choir from the time I could hold my head up and walk. I don’t remember even being in church as a young child when I wasn’t in the choir upstairs in the back of the church and facing the sanctuary and altar.

I also wept at Pere Desrocher’s homilies. He loved the Virgin Mary and could wax eloquent in speaking about her and how she was our heavenly mother. She loved us as unworthy as we were; she would always be present to us in our sorrows and our joys. We could turn to her.

Vers l’autel de Marie,
Marchons avec amour.
Vers l’autel de Marie,
Donnez nous un bonjour.
…

We sang in French, we sang in Latin. He was called the crying priest. He would get so rapt up in his words about the Holy Mother of God that I wept too. I wept and I didn’t care that the girls around me noticed. I was completely caught up in his words.

There would be choir practice after Mass and I would stay to sing some more.

And after school we practiced at Madame Beaulieu’s home in her parlor where she had a piano just off the front entry of the yellow house where all the mail boxes were located.

All the little children gathered in the parlor to sing and to dance in preparation for the minstrel show that was held in the church basement. I don’t recall what time of year it was, but I feel it was an annual event. And on this particular occasion we were rehearsing the Mexican Hat Dance; skipping and twirling. I would be singing my solo – Open Up Your Heart And Let The Sunshine In.

It took several years it seems before I would discover that the words in the song were not mothers never lose and fathers never win. The words actually were smilers never lose and frowners never win.

By then the demons had been established; they’d taken up residence.

DeAnn Louise Daigle year-end writing retreat morning 12/27/07