The Genes We Get

Before I start, it´s important to say this is a true story. Everything. Every family member and every talent. The lesson I learned is also real, and very important. Pay attention to that.

My grandma was a famous pianist. When I was a kid, I used to sit in front of her piano and listen for hours straight to her playing and singing. She used to be the principal of a great musical school, but now her audience was reduced to one: me. She sings like an angel.

I never asked, but her older brother was probably an inspiration to her: he has 3 albums released. He can reach really high notes, which is impressive considering he´s 86 years old. Everyone cries when he and grandma sing old songs that only they know in family meetings.

The musical genes surely passed to his kids, because the older one works with jingles – I´m sure you´ve heard Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there! before – and he´s kind of a big deal in the business. The other 3 daughters used to have a band with over a million views on some of their Youtube videos. The 2 children of the oldest sister recently formed a band that plays in weddings and other events. When they get together, each one takes an instrument and they go until dawn singing and drinking. Must be nice.

In the musical matter, my godfather – Mom´s younger brother – is definitely Grandma´s biggest pride. He played the keyboard in a band that became famous during the 80´s, but right before their first tour, the vocalist kicked him out – we are not allowed to say his name out loud. Now, he´s a DJ and music professor in the greatest university of the state. He and Grandma are always singing together.

My mom was the only one left out. She says when she tried to sing her mom used to laugh and compare her to a persona of the 90´s I have no idea who is. She says it in a funny way, but I can sense a bitter behind it. Grandma simply giggles and looks down. Mom also says the lady of the house “taught” her the piano in a way no kid could ever possibly learn, while for the younger one, she taught in such a fun way, she could listen to their laughs in her bedroom and uncle learned how to play it in less than a month. Mom can´t play any instrument. Grandma giggles and looks down again. No apologies were ever said.

During her adulthood Mom tried to overcome her musical trauma with me. She had me take piano, singing, guitar and flute classes and even join a choir. I never succeeded in any. When I asked her to quit (which happened in literally every one of those listed above) she always gave me the same answer: You have music in your blood. Don´t waste it like I did. Guess the apple doesn´t fall far from the tree, huh?

I tried, I swear I did, but I don´t have it in me. I can´t remember which piano key is do, or re, or mi; I can´t remember the guitar chords and sometimes my big fat fingers don´t fit in it; and I sing like a choking duck. Yep, genetics is a bitch.

When I was around 13, I came in terms with the fact that music just wasn´t for me after I didn´t get a role in the school musical. It was hard. Until that moment I had a bit of hope my musical talents were just waiting to bloom, like puberty. Mom was going through a bit different process: she knew was bad, she just didn´t care anymore. In the family meetings she started singing with her cousins while drinking her characteristic whiskey. She couldn´t be happier she got over her family musical trauma alone. She needed no one else to realize something I would sometime later. I Never found out how she did it.

My musical journey started in the summer of 2020, when I was 16 years old. My sister had just returned from college. I couldn´t be more excited. My happiest memories of all times were alongside her. Ananda, a Sanskrit word meaning “joy, bliss, happiness”, and there isn´t any other way to describe her. She manages to make everyone happy, even if for just a second. Being near her was so entrancing you just felt like going out to the middle of the street at 3 a.m. and dancing. She´s always being my biggest inspiration.

She had the idea for us two to go on a Sister´s Road Trip, from the gray city of São Paulo, where we lived, to the sun and colorful summer of Rio de Janeiro. I loved it. Our parents completely hated it, but somehow, she managed to convince them. I never figured how she was so good at winning people´s minds.

On our way, she told me about her marvelous life in college, with her amazing friends, interesting subjects and cute boys. I looked at her and for a moment I felt like that 8-years-old looking up to her older sister in literally everything she did. She used to complain that I copied her, and I would refuse with everything I had, claiming she was crazy. Deep down, I just wanted to be like her. I never told her that.

At some point on the road, my sister got tired of driving and we were starving for some real food other than the Oreos we had taken. Some minutes later, almost by magic, a road diner appeared on our sight. We pulled over and went in. It was really… archaic, not to say something else. It was a really small square, with ten wooden tables at maximum, and a small stage in the front. Apparently, it was Karaoke night, although the four drunks there with us seemed to be too wasted to even talk, imagine sing. She turned to me and with a smile forming on her face, she said “Let´s sing!”. I instantly refused and she asked why, and I said: “I can´t sing.” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She said “So?” and went upstage. She had put Wannabe, from Spice Girls.

Low move, and she knew it. It took me back to the day where I found out I hadn´t gotten a role in my favorite musical they were doing in school, High School Musical, 3 years before. I was upset, and my sister saw it. She took me to the movies and then to a fast food truck we liked, even though she had an exam on the next day and had no clue what it was about. I had lots of fun, but it was on the way back I had the time of my life. It was midnight on a Tuesday night, so we were the only car on the street. Spice Girls´ Wannabe started playing and she literally stopped the car in the middle of the road, got out and started dancing and screaming the song out of her lungs. I did the same, and for 2 minutes and 53 seconds I was the happiest person on the planet.

And so, I said screw it. I went upstage and sang. I sang with all my heart, soul and lungs… and it sounded terrible. Just horrible. But that´s the thing: I didn´t care anymore. I remembered sitting in front of grandma´s piano and listening to her while her eyes glowed; remembered the tears in the whole family´s eyes when the siblings sang those meaningful songs to them; and remembered the most beautiful smile on Mom´s face when she sang with her heart sisters. And I just sang more and more. We sang through the whole night.

Back at the car, at the sound of Rex Orange County, I just realized why my family was so musical, and it had nothing to do with genetics. It is because music is love, passion, fun and expression. And that´s what my family is: a group of people who love each other and want to have fun together. And suddenly I didn´t feel left out, because I too, felt those things, and had music deep in my soul. It was on that moment that I realized the thing my mom did a while ago: the true music is not on our hands or vocal cords, but in our hearts. Music is not talent or genes, is love.