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| Recording narration for my documentary, "Lady Wrestler." |
"Baby I just can't stand to see you happy. More than that, I hate to see you sad. Honey, if you left me, I just might do something rash. What's this strange relationship?"
- Prince, "Strange Relationship"
As writers, we're told to find our voices. I've always had a love/hate relationship with mine - my speaking voice, that is.
During intermission, on the way back to my seat from a trip to the men's room, I ran into another friend who happened to be working as an usher at the event. She introduced me to her friend, who was also ushering. This older woman whom I'd never met before in my life inexplicably began talking in a low voice like Smaug the Dragon from "The Hobbit." Turns out she thought she was being funny by mocking my deep voice!
I wish I could dismiss this woman as some insensitive moron who is on the verge of senility. But over the years, a couple of friends who are otherwise nice, considerate people have also mocked my voice, thinking they're being oh-so cute and oh-so clever with their "good-natured teasing."
I'm all for not taking one's self too seriously, but making fun of the deepness - or lack thereof - of someone's speaking voice is just as obnoxious as mocking someone's accent. It sends a message that the person being mocked is "foreign," abnormal, that they don't fit in.
I would love to be able to fit in and be just like everyone else. I'm sure Dennis Haysbert is a fine actor and probably a really nice guy, but I don't want to be told I sound like the Allstate Guy.
I'm often overcome with envy when I hear a man with a high-tenor voice, one that will never carry bass tones across a room and make people turn around and look at him the way mine does.
There was one time when I was meeting in a library with a journalist colleague near a table where two middle-school girls appeared to be studying. When I spoke, one of the girls started repeating everything I said in a mocking voice, like a playground bully making fun of another kid. I simply said, "I don't know what their problem is," and my colleague replied, "I don't, either" - a mild rebuke that silenced the prepubescent mockingbird.
From an intellectual standpoint, I can understand why some people would think it's okay to make fun of a man with an exceptionally deep voice. Because having a deep voice can be perceived as a sign of manliness and virility, making fun of a guy with a deep voice is sort of like a backhanded compliment. It's like cracking the lame, tired and equally offensive "How's the air up there?" joke to a tall guy. (By the way, I'm tall too, but at 6-foot-1, apparently not tall enough to frequently be teased about my height.)
As sensitive as I am about my voice, I can't imagine what it's like for women with deep voices who are sometimes mistaken for men over the phone!
Truth be told, I can sometimes resort to "voice prejudice" myself. When I hear a man with a particularly soft or weak speaking voice, it's like nails on a chalkboard.
Though people have occasionally mocked or outright insulted my voice, I've had just as many - or more - compliments on the way I sound. I've been told my voice is soothing and asked if I sing (I do, badly, not even being able to stay on-key singing "Happy Birthday").
One time at my day job when I was assigned the task of answering phones and fielding calls from random people seeking information, a woman on the other end of the line told me I have a sexy voice.
As a journalist, I occasionally record my interviews with people. When transcribing interviews, I usually fast-forward over the parts when I'm asking questions because I can't stand the sound of my own voice.
But there are times when I come across my voice on a recording and think, "Hmm, I don't sound too bad. Actually, I sound kind of nice." It is truly a love-hate relationship.
And the funny thing is, I've been paid to do professional voice-over work. My voice has been featured in a couple of different commercials that have aired on radio stations far and wide in my home state of Ohio. A coworker once told me she got a kick out of hearing my voice on the local country station as she drove into work.
In the late 2000s, when I worked full-time at ThisWeek News, a community newspaper chain in my hometown, I was tapped to host the paper's "vodcast." In this weekly online newscast, I and a few of the sports reporters recited a roundup of stories from around central Ohio from a makeshift teleprompter. When I asked my friend and colleague who produced the vodcast why he chose me for this assignment, he replied, "That voice."
And when it came time to record the narration for "Lady Wrestler," the soon-to-be-released documentary I directed about African-American female wrestlers in the '50s, '60s and '70s, I cast myself as the narrator. I've received compliments from people who have seen the documentary on my voice-over work.
So these unique pipes that God blessed me with must be good for something.
I wish I could dismiss this woman as some insensitive moron who is on the verge of senility. But over the years, a couple of friends who are otherwise nice, considerate people have also mocked my voice, thinking they're being oh-so cute and oh-so clever with their "good-natured teasing."
I'm all for not taking one's self too seriously, but making fun of the deepness - or lack thereof - of someone's speaking voice is just as obnoxious as mocking someone's accent. It sends a message that the person being mocked is "foreign," abnormal, that they don't fit in.
I would love to be able to fit in and be just like everyone else. I'm sure Dennis Haysbert is a fine actor and probably a really nice guy, but I don't want to be told I sound like the Allstate Guy.
I'm often overcome with envy when I hear a man with a high-tenor voice, one that will never carry bass tones across a room and make people turn around and look at him the way mine does.
There was one time when I was meeting in a library with a journalist colleague near a table where two middle-school girls appeared to be studying. When I spoke, one of the girls started repeating everything I said in a mocking voice, like a playground bully making fun of another kid. I simply said, "I don't know what their problem is," and my colleague replied, "I don't, either" - a mild rebuke that silenced the prepubescent mockingbird.
From an intellectual standpoint, I can understand why some people would think it's okay to make fun of a man with an exceptionally deep voice. Because having a deep voice can be perceived as a sign of manliness and virility, making fun of a guy with a deep voice is sort of like a backhanded compliment. It's like cracking the lame, tired and equally offensive "How's the air up there?" joke to a tall guy. (By the way, I'm tall too, but at 6-foot-1, apparently not tall enough to frequently be teased about my height.)
As sensitive as I am about my voice, I can't imagine what it's like for women with deep voices who are sometimes mistaken for men over the phone!
Truth be told, I can sometimes resort to "voice prejudice" myself. When I hear a man with a particularly soft or weak speaking voice, it's like nails on a chalkboard.
Though people have occasionally mocked or outright insulted my voice, I've had just as many - or more - compliments on the way I sound. I've been told my voice is soothing and asked if I sing (I do, badly, not even being able to stay on-key singing "Happy Birthday").
One time at my day job when I was assigned the task of answering phones and fielding calls from random people seeking information, a woman on the other end of the line told me I have a sexy voice.
As a journalist, I occasionally record my interviews with people. When transcribing interviews, I usually fast-forward over the parts when I'm asking questions because I can't stand the sound of my own voice.
But there are times when I come across my voice on a recording and think, "Hmm, I don't sound too bad. Actually, I sound kind of nice." It is truly a love-hate relationship.
And the funny thing is, I've been paid to do professional voice-over work. My voice has been featured in a couple of different commercials that have aired on radio stations far and wide in my home state of Ohio. A coworker once told me she got a kick out of hearing my voice on the local country station as she drove into work.
In the late 2000s, when I worked full-time at ThisWeek News, a community newspaper chain in my hometown, I was tapped to host the paper's "vodcast." In this weekly online newscast, I and a few of the sports reporters recited a roundup of stories from around central Ohio from a makeshift teleprompter. When I asked my friend and colleague who produced the vodcast why he chose me for this assignment, he replied, "That voice."
And when it came time to record the narration for "Lady Wrestler," the soon-to-be-released documentary I directed about African-American female wrestlers in the '50s, '60s and '70s, I cast myself as the narrator. I've received compliments from people who have seen the documentary on my voice-over work.
So these unique pipes that God blessed me with must be good for something.
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