I puckered up and kissed my teenage irony goodbye at a global whistling competition
After signing up, I unexpectedly learned I’ve been schlepping around a shield of irony since my teens
This First Person column is written by Ben Shannon, a graphic journalist at CBC and a proud dad who now lives in Toronto. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.
One day, while I was watching the BBC quiz show Only Connect, a contestant off-handedly mentioned that they'd once entered an international whistling contest.
International whistling contest? That couldn't possibly exist, could it?
A quick Google search later, I was chuckling to myself and signing my youngest daughter, Sumire, and me up to the Masters of Musical Whistling mailing list.
I didn't take any of it seriously for a second. In fact, I rarely take anything seriously. Ever since I was a teen, I've viewed the world through ironically tinted glasses. So I just assumed this was a feel-good contest where everyone wins.
But what a great excuse it would be to hang out with my daughter — an ultra-low stakes event that we could do one afternoon from our living room. The perfect pandemic activity for early 2022.
I should mention that Sumire and I are both pretty good at whistling. It's just something I learned from my parents and she learned from me. I was pleasantly surprised when she picked it up over the pandemic. Whistling is certainly not anything I would ever consider special about myself, but when you see a nine-year-old like Sumire excel at it, it hits differently.
One year later, as lockdown restrictions were becoming a thing of the past, I received an email that the Masters of Musical Whistling were accepting audition tapes. I couldn't think of a more fun Saturday afternoon than setting up the camera and whistling with my daughter. So, with a tripod and mic in hand, we tromped into the backyard.
A month later we got the word that we'd made the cut.
Cue training montage
You can imagine my surprise when I skimmed the email and discovered that the contest was being held in person in Los Angeles. The joke had gone too far! The Masters of Musical Whistling is an organization devoted to promoting whistling as a fine art instrument where whistlers from all over compete for the title of World Champion. I knew we were good whistlers, but not fly-to-another-country-to-compete good. Or maybe we were?
Thankfully, I learned I could book a coaching session with the competition's organizer Carole Anne Kaufman a.k.a. the Whistling Diva.
When I went into that Zoom call with Carol, I don't know what I was expecting but I certainly wasn't expecting to be cut to my core. Her home was adorned with plants and had an inviting, soothing feel but she was all business.
She scrubbed through our audition tapes and pointed out flaw after flaw.
She said something along the lines of, "You are both very naturally talented but I can tell you've only ever whistled for your own entertainment. You both need to practice and learn how to whistle for an audience."
I left the call shell-shocked. This was no joke. I had signed my daughter and me up for a serious, legit competition and now we needed to practise our butts off or we'd wind up looking like fools.
I could have just closed that Zoom window, forgotten about the whole thing and gone about my life. But it wasn't just me; I needed to lead by example and show my daughter how to apply themselves because when the going gets tough, the tough apply cherry chapstick and start whistling!
Cue Rocky-style training montage with the theme song performed entirely by whistling.
For over a month, we each practiced whistling for at least 20 minutes daily. I cashed in all the credit card travel points we saved during the pandemic and before we knew it, we were standing in Hollywood and bathed in golden sunlight.
The theatre was beyond ritzy. In front, a sandwich board sign festooned with lip-shaped balloons welcomed us to the 2023 Master of Musical Whistling competition.
Meet the masters of whistling
Have you ever had a moment where life feels like a surreal kaleidoscope? You look around and wonder, how did I even get here? In those moments, I often retrace my steps and find that what led me to that place was a fear of letting people down or a feeling of obligation.
But this time, somehow, it felt like I'd transcended those feelings. We'd practised, prepared and done our best. We weren't here by accident. We'd chosen to be here.
We walked around and met all the other staggeringly talented contestants who'd flown in from places all around the world and marvelled as they twittered away like human R2-D2s. These were people doing what they enjoyed. Everyone was so sweet. There wasn't a shred of irony.
Etienne Devaux from France could whistle so sublimely that it sounded as if there was a whistling duet on stage. I couldn't believe my ears. Hikari Fukushima, who had flown in from Japan, whistled a retelling of Spirited Away, complete with an accompanying piano player and multiple costume changes.
These whistlers were true artists.
When I was a teen in the '90s, everything was ironic. I was swaddled in a thick layer of ironic armour. I watched movies ironically, I enjoyed music ironically, and I even ate ironically bad food. Why? Because opening my heart to earnestly care about something put me in a vulnerable position. If I opened my mouth to sing and falter, I opened myself to ridicule.
As I looked around at all these talented wonderful people and at my talented daughter, who Carol was quick to point out had far better pitch than I, felt my irony melting away.
We stepped out on stage and gave it our all. Sumire whistled the wistful theme from the Japanese cartoon Doraemon and won silver in the kid's category. I whistled the "gooftastic" banger It's Not a Moon by the YouTube channel Bad Lip Reading and won gold for level one adults. For the record, level one is the entry level with level three being the true cream of the crop.
I won't lie, this meant a lot more than I thought it would. On the inside, I'm still that ironic '90s teen. A plaid shirt-wearing, grunge-listening Peter Pan. But at that moment I was Robin Williams in Hook shouting, "Bangarang!"
Truly caring about something can feel a little silly, but I've learned not to shy away from those moments for fear of what others might think because sometimes being a little silly is the only way to find what we truly care about.
Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Here's more info on how to pitch to us.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
