St. John's Day School in Laurel, Miss. As you can probably tell, it used to be a big house, and I'd often fantasize as a student that I lived there. But then some idiot kid would snap me out of it.
This is the cafeteria in which I performed my first and last duet of my life.
I'm still disappointed that higher-learning institutions don't offer a pop-music/architecture degree.
Before the ravages of puberty, I wanted to design mile-high skyscrapers by day in New York then jet to L.A. to live my other life as a Billboard-topping pop singer. It seemed
SO possible at the time, at least until math came along and veered me off track. Stupid long division.
Although I fell in love with writing by age 9, I still fancied myself a singer of sorts, recording myself singing a capella covers of "The Greatest Love of All," "Morning Train" by Sheena Easton and --
quel surprise -- "Tomorrow" from "Annie."
In fourth grade at St. John's Day School in Laurel, Miss., the music teacher decided to give me a duet -- like, four lines, but still -- in the class Easter pageant. I was ecstatic! This could be my big break and, if I was lucky, give me street cred. Or playground cred, considering my parents wouldn't let me near the street without supervision, at least not after I ran into a parked car in second grade and chipped my front tooth.
Anyway, the big day came, and all the students were herded into the cafeteria (which served
THE best grilled cheese on soup-and-sandwich day). We took to the risers at one end of the room and sang our little hearts out, I guess.
All I remember was my big, four-line duet with Greg, another kid in class who wore glasses like me, whose dad was a local big shot. He was also a better singer and was less than half my size because, I don't know, rich kids don't eat fried chicken.
Anyway, just as I'm about to open my mouth to sing, some kindergarten kid on the front row sneezes and ... Well, he expelled something out of his nose, which hung there while he stared straight ahead at me. Like it was predestined he was to throw me off track -- and he did. I stumbled through the lyrics, trying not to laugh, while the row of classmates in front of me stood there, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Math robbed me of half my potential double major, then that stupid kindergartner with his "Exorcist"-like nasal expulsion single-handedly/nosedly thwarted my plans for a music career. And
that's why I'll never be on "The Voice." Well, that and puberty. Sigh ...
The occasional friend will tell me I'm a good singer when we're in the car, but I think they're just being nice. And it's usually after I say, "I'm a horrible singer," with which they apparently feel compelled to disagree. I'm the one driving in these instances, so I can't blame them.
Whatever. I'll just have to come up with another way to be famous so I can jet between East and West coasts. Something legal that doesn't involve an audience of kindergartners.
So can you sing? And what do you sing best?
Peace, love and grilled cheese ... XOXO
