from The Delicacy of the Other: Personal Poems and Lyric Essays
by James M. McMahon

Fifteen years ago, at a weekend singing workshop
billed as an opportunity to “open and find” your voice,
I learned a song, ‘True Colors’:

‘But I see your true colors shining through
I see your true colors
And that’s why I love you
So don’t be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful
Like a rainbow’

The teacher asked each of us to stand before the others and sing the haunting song. It was an emotional moment for each of us. Many wept.

Saturday night’s homework was to pick our own song and prepare it for class the next day. I picked an old Irish ‘parting song.’ It was traditionally sung as a drinking partner took leave of his colleagues at the end of the night.

‘For all the money that ere I spent
I spent it in good company
For all the harm that ere I done
Alas it was to none but me.’

Sunday, shaking, I meekly sang the song, forgetting some of the words.

Claude worked with me. ‘Why are you singing so softly?’ I told him and the group a little of where I came from, the importance of not standing out, of being humble and deferential.

‘Look at the back wall, imagine huge pictures of those authority figures, and sing that you have the right to belt it out and have your voice heard. Sing the song as loud as you can.’

I tried again, a little louder, but tears ran down my cheeks.

‘Keep singing,’ he asked.

Finally, I belted out the song, every word, loud and clear. My classmates cheered.

That summer I visited China for the first time. One day I took a walk in a park in Beijing. It was a beautiful park, large and hilly. Most of the morning crowd had left to go to work. I was studying a middle-aged lady making graceful motions with a sword when I heard singing in the distance. I followed the music and came upon a Pagoda. Inside, a dozen or so folks, mostly seniors with their grandchildren, were sitting in a semi-circle. Each took turns standing before the others and singing a traditional Chinese song. I was mesmerized.

A grandfather beckoned to me. I sat shyly next to the singers and listened raptly as they rose to sing the songs of their culture. Then an impulse was upon me. I stood up, faced my new friends and sang my Irish parting song. No one understood any of the words, as I didn’t theirs, but all understood our hearts. They applauded warmly.

I knew then that I could live in China, or anywhere, with anyone.