It was all her idea- I think. Usually her music, definitely her ideas on how we should stand, how we should dress. Her irritation when our practices wandered all over the map. We'd completely missed the intrinsic joy- the whole damn point of making music in the first place- by the time we were teenagers. We never got past a certain point as a group. Some lovely things happened when we wandered off by ourselves, though.
The first time I carried the whole thing myself, I bombed in a big way. In front of a tired, midday chapel service crowd at my tiny, incestuous little K-12 parochial school in Oilton, OK, I flopped with gusto. My too many years of performance kept me upright even while the sacred cow of a song I'd chosen was brutally slain in front of about 100 or so pairs of bored, provincial eyes. Good times.
I got back on the horse, though, the very next week. Probably sang the very same song, which is kind of sad, but still. I'd much improved the second time around and by the end of the year, I owned something. In fact I'd done so damn well for myself, that I'd gotten noticed by somebody and a while later was asked to join a Contemporary Christian Cockamamy Something Or Other Group. And in their way, they were a big damn deal- one of the top four Cont. Christ. acts in the country at the time. As there have only ever been two (count 'em) Cont. Christ. Artistes I've ever cared for, I turned them down. I have never regretted that. Even if I could have been a contender where pious pablum was concerned. I'm with Chez J on the whole "rather have nothing than settle for less." Yep, I've got my standards. And you can figure out the rest.
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RépondreSupprimerWas that a baby in that bath water? Everybody sings to the provinces first, nothing wrong with double coupon day.
RépondreSupprimerStrangers thought we had tiny voices and often said so. Or just the one old guy whom everyone repeated. They weren't around for the many late night, slam sessions of angry words and sharp retorts. We used our inside voices with the strangers, but rarely at home.
RépondreSupprimer"...than a house full of sacrifices with STRIFE!
RépondreSupprimerROFL John.
RépondreSupprimerWe had you guys held up in front of us sooooo many times, usually when John and I were bickering/fist fighting. "THEY never fight. THEY are shining examples of filial harmony. Why can't you be more like THEM?" And we wanted to be.
Well, fist-fights were out of our depth, but when I say rarely used at home, I mean it swelled in volume as we grew older and the picture of the "perfect family" bagan to fester from lack of oxygen.
RépondreSupprimerMymo made a good point the stagnant list of songs we sang: it became a form of regression. We were singing the damn counting song even after some of us were in high school.
Oddly enough, we were held up to ourselves as an example when we were kids. "Remember who you are, you're THEM! So act like it!"
*sigh!* I think I made a good post because you all can discuss it without any help at all from me. You're free, cheesy bread! You're free!
RépondreSupprimerNo, wait, you need some help from me. (I need some help from me.) Fid, I must defend my honor: some of my best friends are provinces and if I had a daughter I'd name her Ling Ho.
RépondreSupprimerAlso, tiny bone to pick, K_sra, my lovely. I think we used our inside voices almost constantly at home...until we were pretty much grown. And then the pitiful fact was that we still had to figure out how to navigate sibling rivalry and all the other stupid kid stuff that most people have out of their systems by that age. Not fun because by then the life issues we were dealing with made the stakes unbearably high when we got it wrong. I think the intention behind the teaching was good...it just didn't account for the grimey side of human nature that we'd need to know how to deal with, too. On that topic, perhaps I shouldn't even start in on how we were(n't) supposed to deal with the opposite sex. Dating! Whaaaaaa? Not In The Bible. Look for yourselves. Not in there. BTW, I bought a beautiful new berka today. A beetred shade that matches my blush. (Sassy til the day I die, people.)
RépondreSupprimerDating sucks.
RépondreSupprimerheh heh, *chuckle* yeah. (what's a berka?)
RépondreSupprimerThere were some pretty sad interactions where life skills might have helped; like, back-that-truck-up-out-my-business-bee-atch skills, or at-least-I-am-trying-to-live-life-my-own-way skills, or you-should-feel-free-to-learn-the-meaning-of-the-word-honor-the-hard-way-so-that-you'll-remember type of skills. We doled out "the law" a lot and did not "do anything to help" each other. But I don't think that makes us different than the other children. We were just more immature at an older age. Typical raised-in-a-bomb-shelter fare.
(that's hard to type with so many ----)
Funny because I'm just now learning all those skills. And at-least-you-bothered-to-put-them-in. And honest+, I think I said the same thing you did, in different words.
RépondreSupprimerYou know, K, I think you did... I was just making a little point about chronology. (...'s are much easier, folks.)
RépondreSupprimerAlso, my inner journalist checks for balance in the story and must point out that some of the things we did learn were great stuff... like overall kindness, sensitivity to the needs of others, that whole "protector of the weak" thing... Yep, I am still Protector of the Week.
RépondreSupprimerAnd most importantly, yall's family was directly responsible for getting me to like foods besides PB&J.
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