I Remember When
Linda keeps wanting me to write
about “I remember when” stories. You
see, somehow I became very old, without even trying. And it didn’t take me very long, either. So Linda reminded me that a clock that doesn’t
run at all is still right twice a day so I must remember something interesting
to share after eighty years of being mostly wrong but still having the times of
rightness twice a day. So here
goes. By the way, I still lie a lot.
She told me to start by remembering
a thing that happened while I was in grade school. That one is easy. I think I must have been in
about the second or third grade. I know
for sure that it was in the month of May, because the story is all about a May Day
dance at Hall Street School. I was so
proud. My teacher had included me along
with fifteen other students to dance around the maypole as the big
entertainment for the PTA celebration.
If you never lived in a small town you might be unaware as just how
important such events can be. And to be
called on to be a part of the main event – well it just doesn’t get any better
than that.
So the big day arrived. The pole (about twelve feet high) was firmly
set in the playground dirt and long multicolored ribbons were tied to the
top. Each dancer (did I mention I was
one of them) was assigned one and we had been practicing for a few weeks so as
to be perfect marching around the pole in perfect order, going in and out and
finally winding around to form a beautiful lace-like coating around the pole. We were then supposed to stop as one and bow,
thereby leaving the parents and other excited observers applauding in wild
acceptance and appreciation of their wonderful talented children..
All went well! Well, almost
all. There was this one guy who was
trying to be better than the others who was dancing and hopping at the same
time when his foot found a slight low spot in the grass and he went head over
heels into the dirt. But all is well
that ends well. He immediately rolled over and was back on his feet. He grabbed
his ribbon, turned to the audience, smiled as if to let them know it was all a
part of the show. The parents loved it.
Our teacher did not.
I was never asked to be a part of
any kind of performance again as long as I attended Hall Street School. I truly think that is why that school is no
longer in existence. Not really, but that is what my Mom and Dad always
thought. Or at least that is what they told
me. What do you think?
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