Throwback Thursdays: Annamaniacs - How Do You Get Ham Out of a Shrinking Violent?

The day of stepping back in time. This was from my Annamaniacs column in 2003. *****

Having seven children means a lot of school concerts.

And in the town I’m in where there are three schools for the elementary students, each school with only 2 grades, it means even more concerts since each grade has its own concert. This in some ways is better than other schools where they have one concert a year for everybody to show off, and I’ve had to sit through concerts where each grade had three numbers and the concert takes longer than watching the miniseries “Roots”.

School concerts are not about perfection. They’re about giving children the opportunity to participate in the performing arts. They’re about learning teamwork and skills that can’t be learned in a normal classroom setting. They’re about giving parents another excuse to bring out the video camera recording moments that they will later use to humiliate their children at family gatherings and date nights.

And to be completely honest, the only time we parents really enjoy these things, is when it’s our little darling up there performing. Parents won’t admit this. Parents will say they had a wonderful time and wasn’t everyone terrific, but they will be watching the clock and thinking “when is “insert name” going to do his thing so we can get out of here.”

When my twelve year old son was in kindergarten, he spent the whole year with his hands over his face. His teacher didn’t know what he looked like until May. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like his face, he’s actually a pretty good looking guy, he was just so painfully shy that I guess he figured that if he could cover his face, no one could see him.

As a child, he never sang. His sisters did all the time. But he didn’t. He rarely talked. He showed no musical interest whatsoever.

I was stunned when in the third grade he came home with a paper that he got on his knees and begged me to sign. It was for the choral group at school. He promised all kinds of things, even a clean room, if I would just sign the paper.

“I didn’t know you liked to sing.” I said as I got out a pen.

“Sing?” He looked surprised. “I thought this was for playing instruments.”

I laughed. “Choral is singing. Do you still want me to sign this?”

“No. Forget it. I don’t want to sing.”

But somewhere during some school concert, he discovered something. He liked being up in front of people. He liked to be seen. He liked to sing. He learned all the words to all the songs. When it was someone else’s turn up front he could be seen in the background, lip-syncing to all the words. Not just the songs, but even the dialogue. He started dancing in the choir. While every other child stood still and sombre trying desperately to remember the words and follow the teacher, my son decided that a little choreography was needed. Which isn’t easy to do when you’re standing on a narrow bench with kids fractions of an inch beside, behind and in front of you.

I spent many a concert tears rolling down my face, trying desperately not to laugh at his antics.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when you’re on stage. It’s called scene stealing and it isn’t a nice thing to do. The other kids won’t like it.”

“I can’t help it. I got the music in me.”

He started singing during class time. Teachers learned to put up with it and even started to encourage it. Quiet time for my son meant that the music was on and he was singing. He got his work done although I’m not sure if anyone else did. No one will tell me, but I suspect that they just started handing out earplugs for everyone. Not that he has a bad voice, he has a nice voice, but how many times a day can anyone handle the Disney Tarzan soundtrack?

When the school decided to put on “Annie” he wanted the part of Daddy Warbucks, and he got it, only to have the play cancelled due to a teachers strike.

The last school concert was a play about sports heroes. “I learned all the parts.” My son said to me, “Just in case someone doesn’t make it.”

I never knew people like Joe Dimaggio, and Arthur Ashe could sing, but according to the play they could. One by one the child representing an athlete, stepped out of sports card and stood on the edge of the stage, microphone in hand, singing a solo and hoping that the song would hurry up and end so they could get off stage.

My son got a part as a sports hero. He stepped out of his playing card, grabbed the microphone, and proceeded to tear up the stage with a rap number. No quiet little voice for him. He belted it out, dancing and moving to the music. It was like M.C. Hammer took possession.

The audience roared with appreciative laughter.

Later during the play he was brought on with the other players, mugging and clowning around the whole time. They couldn’t get the kid off the stage. When he wasn’t supposed to be on I saw him either dancing in the choir or poking his head through the curtains and smiling at the audience.

After the show he glowed so bright I had to put on sunglasses as people came up to him and told him what a great job he did. Of course he made sure that he stood by the door everyone used to leave by.

And I remember the kindergartener who walked around with his hands over his face.

You just never know.