Sing

Ted is 11 months old and in the last week he has learned to walk. I go out into the garden with him, holding sometimes two hands, sometimes one and sometimes none. We converse animatedly all the while. He's pretty proud of his new skills and intrigued by all the new things his elevated vantage point reveals. He has his preferred places to visit and his preferred routes to get there. He doesn't yet know any words, with the debatable exception of "cat", but our conversation is full and rich and quite precise. We use tone, timbre, rhythm and pitch. In other words we sing.

All of us sang before we talked. As babies letting our parents know our wants and fears. As a species regulating a complex society millennia before we had any words. This is why tone of voice is far more meaningful to us than the words we use. Music is our first, our most basic, our deepest and most profound language.

But the richest part of the conversation isn't the times we sing alone. When we sing together, a deep unity is formed as we simultaneously voice, listen and respond. Round campfires. Gathered in churches. Together at family gatherings. Old men and their grandchildren walking happily on the deck. Singing makes us one.

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