When I was around my daughter’s age, I was convinced I was going to grow up to be a musical superstar, shaking my hiney while belting out songs to thousands of my fans every night.

Because my parents drilled the motto “Practice makes perfect” into my head, I was determined to exercise my voice box as often as possible. I would prance around my room, wailing into my hair brush, torturing serenading my cat and my stuffed animals.

(Gawd, I was such a girl.)

My brother and sister would yell at me to shut up and I would ignore them and sing louder. Life was good.

One day I had my headphones on, the volume cranked and I was rocking out to Micheal Jackson’s Thriller. While I was imitating my zombie moves, my dad had yelled at me to lower my singing voice. I was oblivious and happily kept singing.

My dad barked at me several more times to can it lower the volume, and I continued to wail in my room. My father soon realized I wasn’t ignoring him, but just deaf while in the throes of the Jacko’s thrall. He decided to teach me a lesson and resolve this irritating habit of mine all at once.

He taped my brilliant warbling. Secretly. Probably while peeing his pants, giggling. All right, maybe not, but I’m sure he grunted in amusement at least once.

Later at the dinner table, the subject of my caterwauling came up. My siblings being the whiney brats they were complained I was polluting the air with my musical talents.

I, of course, was indignant and filled with disbelief. After all, I wasn’t deaf. I had ears. I could hear the notes coming out of my mouth and they sounded like pure magic. Arguing with my dolt-headed demon siblings, I turned to my father to act as the ultimate referee.

Dad just smiled and said he’d be right back. Within moments, he returned with a black tape deck in hand. With a grin, he pressed play and sat back down to resume eating.

Suddenly, this horrible tinny screeching vibrated out of the speaker. I was confused. I mean, I recognized the lyrics but who the heck was singing?

My siblings, however, recognized my voice and doubled over laughing after watching the look of confusion wash over my face.

Sudden dread filled me and I immediately jumped straight into the river of De-Nile. “That can’t be me!” I gasped. “I sound, I mean that sounds-”

“Like a cat screeching in heat?” My dad finished for me.

I couldn’t really argue with him, because the truth was hurting my ears at that very moment.

Since then, I sing only in my car, and only by myself or with small children who can’t speak and are basically victims trapped in the same space as me. Heh.

Watching the video on CNN’s News To Me brought back that memory. I sat there, opened mouth, gasping to my best friend, who was watching it with me, “I do NOT sound like that.”

She mumbled something about me being delusional and then promptly fell off the couch laughing at me the video.

I can’t blame her. The video was funny. Just like I knew it would be. Because some of you missed it, here it is. Click away.

The voices in my head are still trying to reconcile with the screechy voice telling y’all to “Pass the beer, quick!”

Advice I plan on heeding every time I ever have to watch this video again.

***Big thanks to Mike and Eric for being such great guys to work with. It was a blast boys.****