I don’t know why this slice of my life started rolling around my head this weekend. But it did. Everybody has moments of supreme embarrassment. This is one of mine.
It was the Christmas season. I was in fourth or fifth grade. (I’m not working very hard to nail it down.) Our music teacher was coaching us for a presentation of “The 12 Days Of Christmas” at the annual Christmas concert. When it was their turn, each kid would hold up a cardboard rendering of their day, and sing.
My day was “five golden rings”. And during rehearsals I sang it in a voice I would describe as “wobbly soprano”. I was easily a couple of years shy of puberty. The music teacher said nothing good or bad about the way I was singing it. (“Hey kid, this ain’t the Vienna Boys choir! Just sing like a normal kid who can’t sing!”) None of my classmates made fun of me. So…I dunno, maybe the music teacher thought it was good? Maybe they just didn’t care? That seems more likely.
Anyway, it’s the night of the recital and all the little singers were lined up for the performance. We get to “five golden rings” and I sing it with all my little heart and soul.
And everybody laughed.
An audience filled with moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas laughed at me. Which was pretty darn humiliating. That alone would have been a knock to my self-esteem. But of course, as you may recall, there are twelve days of Christmas. So I sang “five golden rings” eight times. And eight times they laughed at me. You’d think I’d have been smart enough to stop the bleeding, you know? Claim a case of laryngitis? Just run out of the gym and lock myself into the family car? Both good options.
Anyway, after we finished the song, I ran offstage and had a tear-stained meltdown. Oh, and when I got backstage the elementary school principal said “Nice job, squeaky!” Yeesh.
The following school year we were all being taught how to play the recorder. Being as I am completely inept in the musical arts, I could see another three-ring catastrophe in my future. So I asked the music teacher if, instead of playing the recorder I could host the concert. He said yes. I have to believe he remembered me as the Christmas Castrato.
Well, every good story should have Muppets in it, and here’s where a Muppet enters this tale. Around the time we were planning for the concert I was becoming enamored with the art of ventriliquism.
Having received a Fisher-Price Animal puppet for Christmas, I decided that Animal and I would host the show.
My God, that thing is beautiful. It was a puppet so you could move his mouth. And there was a little lever that let you raise and lower his eyebrows.
So Animal and I hosted the concert, and as humble as I can be, I must confess we were a big hit. At one point in the evening I asked Animal what he was going to do after the show, and he said he was going to the Georgetown Inn. Which is a bar. The Moms and Dads and Grandmas and Grandpas laughed long and loud at that one. That was the good kind of people laughing at you….the kind where you are trying to make people laugh. As opposed to the wrong kind. I’ve experienced both.
I am certainly glad I figured out a way to get in front of an audience, be the one in control, and have a good show. From my summer job as the voice of a talking Christmas tree, to school plays, to hosting Gong Shows in two states, and so on and so forth…..it’s nice to be able to get in front of a crowd and not be frozen with fear. Of course, I still get a little swimmy stomach when going out on stage. Just last night I introduced the Alliance Arts Council presentation and felt that brief moment of uncertainty. I think I always feel more comfortable being a character than being myself. That has to be what gave my ten year old brain the idea to have Animal on stage with me.
Thanks, Animal!