I was a fifth grader when my music teacher, Mrs. Morgan, announced that there would be a talent show in the upcoming month. I didn’t give it much thought at first. I had already quit violin and was just beginning to play trombone and really didn’t think I had any talent to share on a stage. I was a serious artist. Serious artists didn’t perform, and neither did any of my friends.
That is why it came as a surprise that my best friend, Chris, asked me if I wanted to do something together for the talent show. We were hunting for nightcrawlers on the street after a good rainstorm. He would use and sell the worms for live bait. We often stored them in a decapitated old enamel sink that sat on the dank floor of the root cellar next to his house.
“What would we do?”, I asked him hesitantly.
“I was thinking we could sing something together.” he replied rather confidently.
I was impressed by his courage, but I still wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
“What would we sing?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find something we both know to sing. How about “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, he has dah, dah, dah…”. He was now singing with a hand full of wriggling earthworms.
“I guess I know that one well enough. But we’d have to practice.”
“Oh yeah...of course. We can do it on our way to school everyday. I’ll write us down on the list.”
“Okay.
And with that, our fates had been sealed. We would throw caution to the wind and sing on stage together. Two young men singing proudly a manly song in front of our peers. What could go wrong? We knew our audience. We had preparation time. This could even be the beginning of a great new era in our elementary school culture. It would become a place where young men could play football, go fishing AND sing in front of each other without any preconceived notions of being sissy. All because two young men...with live bait in their hands and a song on their hearts, made a stand. It was going to be great.
If I had the gift of clairvoyance, or the power to speak to my younger self. I would have a few things to say at this moment. I would suggest:
“Despite what many dreamers believe, it is not unwise to look before you leap. Even if it is just a glance. One glance may give you enough foresight to save yourself from embarrassment, ostracization and even DEATH.
Also, when learning to fly, metaphorically speaking, there will come a moment when you first feel as if you can fly. It may be just a whisper. That is your inner child telling you to leap into your destined dream and fly with the eagles as God intended.
DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS CHILD. This child knows nothing about the dedication and labor required to learn a skill like singing in front of an audience. This child is only whispering because they are quite aware that they have no experience to back up such a risky proposition. This child will leave you if you fail!”
Okay, so that may be a bit dramatic and untrue. But immediately after the following events occurred, this may have been my advice.
It was the day of the talent show. We were walking to school going over the verses. We had memorized them and were beginning to think we sounded pretty good. Sure, we hadn’t worked out harmonies or gone through the entire song without a mistake yet, but we thought we were prepared enough to take on the other fifth graders. Of course, my twin sister Cherie had prepared a little skit of a Shel Silverstein poem which would be a serious contender. But we had confidence on our side. Maybe it was the song...every day signing verses about trampling grapes, loosening lightning and terrible swift swords...we just knew that reading a boring old poem couldn’t hold a candle to two young men using their God given voices to express the human condition through a patriotic song. We were a shoe in.
We briefly mentioned that it was kind of strange that Mrs. Morgan hadn’t practiced with us on piano. But we figured that she was a professional and would know what to do. (It may have been an ominous premonition. This would be the “look before you leap” part.)
I should mention that Mrs. Morgan never warmed to me since I moved to town in third grade. I had a couple run ins with her as my friends and I would goof around in her classroom. Just normal kind of trouble making. Talking when we shouldn’t. Playing with the recorders and percussion instruments when we weren’t supposed. That type of stuff.
We arrived early for the evening talent show. It would be held in the high school. Families, teachers and students would all congregate into the lunch room for dinner before the show. My friends and I all sat together and ate the delicious chili, cinnamon rolls and dill pickle spears. It was a curious lunchtime favorite for students all throughout the Midwest school cafeterias. Over the table Chris broke the news to me. He had just spoken to Mrs. Morgan and she informed him that we would have to sing acapella.
“Aca-whatta?” I asked.”
“She said that since we didn’t ask her to accompany us, that she hadn’t prepared the piece.” Chris replied.
Panic coursed through my body. A vision came to me. The two of us awkwardly standing in front of the entire school body and our families...we were dead meat.
I asked, “Well, maybe we can just not do it?”
“But we’re on THE LIST. We’re in the PROGRAM!”.
Chris made a good point. The only thing worse than failing in front of your entire community, is being branded a coward. Everyone would know we chickened out.
We had to do it. It was time to wield our terrible swift swords and face the music...or lack thereof.
Luckily, we had been drawn to sing earlier in the evening. We both knew from playground assaults and injuries, pain is easier when it is dealt swiftly.
“And now Chad and Chris will sing a rendition of “Battle Hymn of the Republic”.
I became queasy. After all, this was the first time I had heard the actual title of the song. All of this time I thought it was “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory”. Not a good sign.
We slowly walked up the stairs on the side of the stage and found our place in the glowing sphere reflection of the spotlight on the empty wooden stage.
In the shadows of the wings, behind the curtains I could see the dark figure of Mrs. Morgan. I believe I could see an iniquitous grin on her face, as if she was taking too much pleasure out of this moment. An owl before two overconfident fledglings, about to have their wings clipped.
Chris and I looked at each other. I waited for him to start. He waited for me to start. My face became flushed and the heat rose into my cheeks and ears.
“One, two, three, four..” I counted off….and neither of us began singing.
The audience murmured and snickered quietly.
My heartbeat throbbed inside my ears.
We tried again.
“One, two, three, four..” and although we didn’t begin on the next one count rhythm, we finally managed to stammer into the first verse.
“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord..”
We sang louder with each passing phrase and I began to think we were going to at least save ourselves from too much ridicule if we just kept displaying confidence. We went into the next verse and we joined in unison...and, dare I say, we were sounding pretty good. I became confident enough to close my eyes and begin to feel the music….this glorious composition was spectacular. I was certain the audience would begin to feel what the two of us were emoting...especially leading into the big chorus...bah, bah, BAH!
“GLORY, GLORY, HALL-Ley- lu….jah.” My solitary voice trailed off abruptly. Where was Chris? I opened my eyes to see I was standing all alone on the stage. Naked in that spotlight. I looked stage right to see Chris running back up the staircase to the stage. He had forgotten the big chorus!!
Suddenly, our musical number became a comedy act. The audience roared. Parents slapped their knees, and the popular girls all whispered and snickered to each other.
“HIS TRUTH IS MARCHING OOOON!” We sang with artificial confidence.
We gave a big apish bow and hurried off the stage as the crowd laughed and clapped sympathetically.
It was over.
Chris apologized profusely. I just slapped his arm and scolded him half heartedly for leaving me up there alone.
“I was just glad you came back!” I added.
We both laughed and breathed a deep sigh. Thankful that it was all over.
“Hey, I bet they still have more cinnamon rolls! Let’s go grab one.” Chris suggested.
The next day at school, it seemed as if no one remembered our tragic performance, or thought it as paramount as Chris and I. There was no teasing. There were no new nicknames born. It was just a typical school day. The whole experience had breezed by, but taught me an important lesson.
My sister and her friend placed second place that night. They did a great job. The audience heartily clapped for them. I was very happy for her.
I don’t even remember who won first place...but one could say that Chris and I won something even more priceless...if we chose to look at it that way. We had won the confidence of the fool. No longer would we have to fear the number one fear...a common nightmare: making a fool of oneself onstage in front of a laughing audience. We had already managed to do this in glorious fashion and it didn’t kill us. In fact, it made us impervious to future embarrassment. I would say that it is probably why I could easily slip into the performer’s life as an adult. I was unafraid to make a mistake on stage or in life. I had learned as a fifth grader that, at the end of the day, we grow a layer of invincibility through every failed attempt. Once the heart slows to a steady pace again, anyone can look back and laugh at the absurdity of it all...and maybe have one more cinnamon roll.