Did they want us to put our heads in an oven?

We were at the Pike St. Market this morning. It is lovely out- the flower vendors are specializing in daffodils. The new F1 magazine is not out yet. Life is so-so. There was a man singing Country Roads on the guitar by the fish show. I was singing along. It took me back.

For some very strange reason, in grade school we had all of these productions that we put on. There was the obligatory Christmas show. Then at different times there were other productions. In 3rd grade, we sang a bunch of songs from Bambi to our crying mothers. Drip, drip, drop was our favorite. It was a little twee, in retrospect. Our teacher was a spinster old lady, with owl-like glasses. She made us memorize psalms and proverbs. She was an ear pincher when boys were bad. Very much the old school. She had perfect penmanship. Just like the posters along the top of the blackboard.

Our music teacher later on was an odd woman. She wore peasant blouses with sweat stains in the armpits. She was a pear-shaped little dumpling of a woman who was far too sensitive for the likes of nasty little grade-school children. Seriously. We made her cry. We would groan and laugh at her when she tried to teach us the newest, latest, greatest ethnic songs. She accompanied us with the autoharp. It was twee as hell. The worst was when we learned the Eerie Canal song. With the autoharp. I wanted, desparately, to lodge a bullet in my temple. The song is a downer to begin with- almost as bad as Sakura- another of her favorites. She probably got off on making us sing depressing songs- hoping for a mass suicide.

The apex was the city-wide show in 6th grade. We all filtered into the civic center, and sang one song. We sang Seasons in the Sun. I still really, really hate that song. Goodbye Michelle, it's hard to die...when all the birds are singing in the sky... ARRRRGGGG. Sentimental crap! I don't remember if my parents attended. I might've not told them on purpose- I hated those kinds of events. I loved actual theater, and performing on stage- but those kinds of choral festivals made me very unhappy. The Christmas shows were the worst- I hated having to appear happy and cute. And sing the songs from the Christmas TV specials. Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas...who the fuck was I supposed to be, an elf? Little tall. Little bitter.

We also had an international festival in 5th and 6th grade. They combined us and split the world between the classes. The 6th graders got the choice locations, like Europe. The 5th graders got the third world. In 5th grade, my report was on Egypt. In 6th grade, it was on Scotland (I was obsessed with the Bay City Rollers that year, and this was my homage.). We got to sing international songs, and do some dances (like the Mexican hat dance), to the delight of our assembled mothers. We provided international foods, and made international houses out of refrigerator boxes. It was fun, though. Silly too. Buncha white kids in costume doing the Mexican hat dance. Without falling down. Much. In the gym.

We did make the music teacher cry that year. Then we had to write letters apologizing to her- she wouldn't come back unless we did. It was pretty bad. I still maintain that she was a bit sensitive to be dealing with grade school kids. She always was a tad fey for the likes of us little ruffians.