Here Comes the Judge

Jazz Hands PLEASE!

The year after I graduated from college, I was head of the Drama Department at a local middle school. I didn't have a teaching credential, but the district was desperate - so they issued me a an emergency credential. A few days later I was the head of a department, teaching at a school where there were two full time security guards walking the halls, waiting to be called by walkie talkie into a classroom for any sort of altercation. There were plenty of altercations: The day after the Columbine incident, a confused sixth grader brought a butcher knife into my classroom and I had to call those very security guards.

It was an interesting year. Since I was now a teacher, I thought it was my duty to buy jumpers and button up shirts at the Disney Store. I wore a plaid Tigger jumper on the first day, then I burned all of my new clothes when I got home. Just kidding, I didn't burn them: But I never wore them again. This was a school full of kids who were really just trying to survive. The kind of kids who do not wear Minnie Mouse on their collar. The kind of kids who really need a theater program.

It was a little tricky: When your seventh grade sound tech is supposed to run all the sound effects and music cues from the booth and he doesn't show up for the performance, because the county has decided that he needs to meet his two year old daughter - it causes problems. It's also a complicated thing, getting mini- gangsters- in- training to sing "Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious" and wave their fingers around doing jazz hands, at the same time. Apparently, that's not a terribly cool thing to do in front of the rest of the school...

However, there was one event which changed my life forever. It made me look at Performing Arts and teaching in a way that made me forget that I had ever longed to move to New York and live in a tiny apartment, eating noodles and auditioning for Broadway productions.

There was a girl in my class, who obviously did not want to be there: She sat in the back row, arms crossed, every day. She wouldn't cause any problems, really, she just never participated in any of the activities or assignments. This Girl just...sat. So, although I found myself constantly warning my students to stop using the "F word" and telling them not to show the class which kind of underwear they had chosen that day and for goodness sakes, please stop pelvic thrusting at the costume mannequin: This Girl was the only one who was going to fail Beginning Drama.

I requested that stay after class and asked her what her problem was (hopefully I asked in a kind, professional manner, but I was pretty exasperated at this point). She shrugged. I told her that she had better memorize a monologue for our final project and perform it for the class, or she was going to fail the course. She shrugged, again.

This Girl showed up for the final and was the last to take the stage. She did her monologue in a tiny whisper of a voice. She did not look up. Her hands were clenched into little balls the entire time. But, she did it. I congratulated her and excused the class for summer vacation.

When the final bell rang, two of the special education teachers came into my little blackbox theater classroom.

They explained that This Girl was a selective mute. She did not speak to anyone - not even her parents. Her first spoken words in years were on that stage in front of over 30 of her peers.

I've witnessed some genuine miracles, with the help of Theater. I've spent many years writing, directing and producing plays. I paid for my Theater Arts degree with the help of my husband, but a lot of my bills were paid with professional acting, directing and theater teaching jobs. Through all of my experiences, I have learned that Theater is magic: It really is.

That has been something that I've always known...

October, 1985

I will go to Drama class on thursday. We are learning how to do commercials. We are doing Hershey’s syrup commercial. I can do it now! I memorized it already, this is it:

For really delicious chocolate milk I follow an old family recipe, hershey’s choclate and milk, that’s recipe. Just squeeze that good old fashioned hershey’s syrup into a big glass of milk and drink up! Hershey’s has been this thick, rich, chocolate flavored syrup for over fifty years! Good old fashioned hershey’s syrup, in a no mess bottle. Mmmmmm good!

Do you like the commercial? I do! See, I told you I memorized it! Pretty good, haw! I have a good acting expierience, so, I can memorize quickly. At my old school, I used to make up plays and produce them for my class. I did: Hellen Keller, the live doll, and some more but I can’t remember them. I tried out for the play of Icabod Crane in the legend of “Sleepy Hollow” but I didn’t make it! I tried out for it at the same place as my Drama clas, Kirk Community Center. There is a haunted house there on the twenty fifth of this month!

Hoarders

You've seen that show "Hoarders", right? How about "Hoarders, Buried Alive"? That show is horrifying. I saw an episode where they found two flat, dead cats in a living room under mounds of indescribable filth. The woman who owned the place sat in her chair on the porch while strangers were digging through her belongings. They found her false teeth, which had been missing for years. The cats had been missing too, by the way.

OK, I know that's an extreme case, but I think most of us are acquainted with at least one person who might someday star in one of those shows. I can think of a few. One of them is Me. Another is Ten Year Old Me. Letting things go has never been a strong suit, for either one of us.

It is a hereditary problem. Sure, laugh: I saw it on one of those shows - it sometimes runs in the family. Does that terrify you? If you saw my daughter's room, it probably would: She hoards, too. She still has all of her Valentine's cards (I removed the candy) from every grade of school, including PreK. That's four years of paper hearts. For a really long time (like, half of her life) she kept the tags from every item of clothing that was bought for her. She finally let me throw them away, so perhaps she can manage to break the cycle.

Last year, my grandmother gave me a Cabbage Patch Kid napkin from my 3rd grade birthday party and a cube of sugar from a trip that we took in 1995. A cube. Of. Sugar. I guess that isn't technically hoarding, because she gave them away. But now, thanks to her, those items are safely tucked away -or piled haphazardly- in my closet. My house looks orderly enough most of the time, but ask my husband and he'll tell you that opening a closet around here is a life or death decision. You might get brained by a box- of- something- that- doesn't- need- to- be- saved. He will periodically say, "do you really need to keep this?" He'll hold up a sentimental treasure and I will begin to panic. "Yes," I will yell: Diving in slow motion towards the item, twisting in mid-air and grabbing it, before it reaches the trash, "I do!" SAFE!

Apparently, this has been a problem for a long, long time...

October, 1985

My collections are miniatures, stickers, stamps, postcards from missions, and medals from missions, and indian arrows, books, and tapes and records. I have eight tapes, about one hundred records, a droor filled with almost every kind of books, joke books, majic books, cook books, books about the sea and missions, unicorn books, myseries, music, plays, good vetrinarians, horse books, spanish books, love stories, california relief map, alot of books. I have the three hundred stickers, I don't know how many stamps and lots of other things.

Don't tell my husband, but I'm pretty sure I still have all that stuff...

A Day to Remember

My baby sister is thirteen years younger than I am. When she was born, people used to think that I was her mother. They would whisper behind their hands, but I could hear what they were saying: They thought I was a very young teen mom.

When my daughter was born, Sis was a teenager. When we'd go out in public together, I would make her push the stroller and walk around with Peanut. Payback is so sweet: Strangers whispered behind their hands and raised their eyebrows.

Then I realized that people probably thought that I was the grandmother.

That's what happened to our mother. The women who ran the YWCA down the street would see her out walking in the evenings and yell "Hulloh, Grandma!" across traffic. She hated it with a passion.

Being so much younger than I, Sis missed a lot of my childhood. I'll tell a story and then add "buuut you weren't here, yet". I think it bugs her, but I so enjoy saying it. Although, it is really weird knowing that a big part of my life had already happened, before she arrived.

Such as, the time that I tried to marry my kid brother off to the girl who lived one house down. She was the sister of my BFF.

They were both six.

I remember it so clearly. The bride was stunning, in her white baptismal gown. The groom demonstrated his mastery of making fart noises with his armpits. We were all latchkey kids, so we had free reign of most of the backyards in our neighborhood. The reception was held in our yard. It was lovely. I wish that Sis had been there to share the momentous occasion with all of us...




September, 1985

My six year old brother and E's six year old sister decided to get married, so today, we're going to have big, beautyful wedding, exept they're going to be announced boyfriend and girlfriend, it's going to be so cute, we're going to have wedding music, and cookies, and juice! I'm going to make cards for them, and give them stickers for presents. Then we'll have a short reception. And they'lle have a honeymoon, by going to seven aleven and maybe, just maybe Nob Hill, and all those little stores there. I have to admit, they do make a cute couple!



I think Nob Hill is a fine store and 7-11 comes in handy for slurpees, I am grateful that my husband and I went to Mexico for our honeymoon...

The Karate Kid

I first saw The Karate Kid when I was around eight. That is exactly how old Peanut is, so I expected the same reverence for the film that I had. Didn't happen that way...

First of all, the experience just wasn't the same. I was holding a very grown-up drink, but that was an improvement. Why had I not noticed the first time around, that the Cobra Kai sensei looked like David Hasselhoff and Val Kilmer's lovechild? I'm not kidding - you should take a look, it might surprise you:



Kind of like how I was surprised by the tightness of the jeans and super short shorts that Ralph Macchio wore in the movie. All the male characters were wearing amazingly tight pants, actually. I am kind of puzzled that the generation, as a whole, was able to produce offspring.

The part that broke my heart was the reaction that my children had, to Mr. Miyagi. As a child, I had found the movie and life lessons learned to be profound. Here's what I heard last night:

"Wax on, Wax off." HeeheeheeeheeehaaHAHAHA!

"Paint the fence." OOOOOOhahahahhahHeeeheeeheee!

The kids thought it was HILARIOUS.

They loved the movie, but for an entirely different reason than I did. I still thought the experience of watching the film was something akin to holy. When Daniel-San executed the Crane Kick during the final moment, a sob escaped from my throat. "Look kids", I said, barely holding it together, "he DID IT! With an injured leg and everything! Good overcame evil. Perseverance triumphed!" My husband gave me a look that said I was pathetic.

Then came Pat Morita's all-knowing look, frozen until the credits rolled. The kids exhausted themselves with knee slaps and foot stomps - at the hilarity of his beatific (*sob*) facial expression.

They said that they thought it was a really great movie.

They could have been watching Spongebob.




May 28th, 1986

My favorite thing to do is karate. I go to karate lessons on Thursday and Tuesday. We practice many things. In karate you have to have a stance that keeps you balanced. Like the horse stance you spread your feet as far as you can like this with your back straight so the person your fighting won't pull you down. or the cat stance. you put your feet like a t with all the weight on your back leg like this. I practice my hardest to have strong, steady stances. In karate you have to have strong punches. You put one hand in a fist by your ribs upside down and when you punch you turn it right side up. You need to know how to kick. you need to balance when you kick. To have long, extended, kicks you should strech. Before you strech you should exersize so you don't strain yourself when you strech. I like to do karate and I know alot more than what I told you. But I have to quit in June. And start again in September. I have to practice in the summer my hardest.

If I Had a Fortune...

My eight year old daughter, whom I shall call "Peanut", is convinced that she won the Danimals yogurt sweepstakes and that I threw away the winning container. She swears that it was right there on the counter, but she forgot to tell me about our unbelievable good luck - so it made it's way into recycling. For a couple of weeks now she has been saying things like this:

"Well, we could have gone on a free vacation, but MOM threw away my winning container!"


Or


"If MOM hadn't thrown away my winning container, I could have been rich!"


She is extremely bitter about the whole thing and I'm sure I'll be hearing about it for the rest of my life. At first I was certain that she had imagined it all, but now I've almost got myself convinced that I did, indeed, throw away the winning yogurt container. I guess we'll never know. I asked her what she would have wanted anyway, if she had won a fortune. Her answer? Zhu Zhu Pets. Yes, my dear Peanut would have spent the sweepstakes money on toy hamsters.




My son, who we like to call "The Bean", got a little over $100 for his sixth birthday. He told me that he was going to use it to buy me a minivan. That money began to burn a hole in his pocket. He couldn't help himself and spent it on Lego Star Wars stuff before we ever got to the Toyota dealership.

I can't even begin to think about what I would do, if I suddenly had a pile of extra money. Here's what Ten Year Old Me would have done with the cash:


October, 1985

If I won two million dollars in a lottery, I would buy a mansion, furniture for it, a Porshe, turbo with a million miles on it, a Television watch, a big, very big getto blaster and other cars and things for my family. and two hundred dollars would go to an orphanige. I don't think money is everything, so I'll give some of it to my friends! I would buy a lot of horses and a tennis court, to go with my mansion! I would put the leftover money in the bank. I don't love money, but it I had two million dollars, that's what I would do! I would like to have two million dollars but it probably wouldn't buy as much as I want so, this is what I'd buy, six horses, a barn, and a big house! and I'd give some money away, put some in the bank, and buy a porshe, and a Lamborgini. I would save lots of it, though because of payments on the house,so, I would buy five horses, a porshe and and a big house. I would save and spend the rest of the money! Maybe not! Too tell you the truth, I don't know what I would buy!

Well, at least I had my priorities straight: Big Ghetto Blaster, before giving that $200 to the Orphanage...

Cloudy With a Chance of Awkward

While drifting away from that delicious, warm, cashmere hug that some people call "Anesthesia", I could hear two unfamiliar, female voices near the foot of my hospital bed. "What is wrong with her?" One of them asked. "I dunno", answered the other, "but she must be dying. Just like our Dear Martha. I think everyone on this floor is."

Just like that, I was in a huge quandary: Do I sit up, open my eyes and say "Hellooo? I'm alive"? Or do I lay there, letting them tsk-tsk over my prone body, until someone comes to check on me? Then I begin to worry that maybe I really am dying. Thankfully, I didn't have to make any rash decisions. The nurse came in and told me that I could go home, once I used the toilet and proved that I can walk.

I peed and ran around the nurse's station, the back of my gown open and flapping in the breeze. If I had had that sort of motivation in junior high school, I could have won the Union Middle School Turkey Trot. Luckily, I was a victim of hospital overcrowding and not a botched surgery: The only thing to have met it's Heavenly Reward was my gall bladder. It went on to a better place.

I frequently find myself in these surreal, awkward situations. Some people say that they have "Aha" moments. They finally "get it" and hear a choir singing, or something. Mine are usually "Why Me" moments. All I hear is that wacky wind instrument that you get in cartoons when someone is smashed in the face with a pie.

Did you know that in less than two years, I have had five mysteriously flat tires? Alright, so one wasn't a mystery: My tire kissed the center island at the Taco Bell drive-thru. Then there was the one from when I got too close to the curb at my kids' school, but never mind that. I've had to call my husband every time and ask him to come help me. Do you know how embarrassing it has become to make those calls? Why Me?

Several years ago, I was directing a production of "Tom Sawyer" at a children's theater. An entire family was cast in the show together. The Wife, The Husband, The Son (he was around 8) and The Daughter, who was four. They were adorable. The Husband was playing the part of The Reverend. When the town thought that Tom and Huck were dead, he gave a speech that started something like this:

"My Brothers and Sisters in Jesus! We gather today to mourn these young souls..."

And ended something like this:

"Let me hear you say Amen! Louder now: Let me hear you say AMEN!"

He was great. He sounded just like he was raised somewhere in the Deep South. During dress rehearsal, he and The Wife told me that they thought I had a great sense of humor, casting a Jewish man in the role. I'd had no idea. That's obviously not a "Why Me" moment though, just a funny anecdote. Stick with me - it gets better.

The previous week, The Wife had informed me that The Husband was going to miss a rehearsal due to a business trip out of the country. I explained that he had already missed two rehearsals and per my policy, he would have to give one of his performances to his double. She pleaded with me, saying that the trip was to Japan and it was crucial to his business. I, being the clueless, power-tripping 20 year old that I was, would not bend. The Husband was impressed by my "spunk" and handed me a business card. "Call my HR department", he said, "I could use someone like you where I work. You would be great at team building exercises." I indignantly informed him that I would never sit at a desk. I was an artist and I did not belong in some corporate cubicle. He patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

I didn't look at his business card until five years later, when I was getting ready to marry my husband and move out of my parent's house. It was in a box of random items. At the top of the simple white card was his name.

Cue the cartoon-y wind instrument music...

Below was his title: CEO. At the bottom was the name of a very large, very famous movie rental company. I'm willing to bet all of you have used their services, at least once. I'm pretty sure that I actually hit my forehead with the palm of my hand after reading that card.

I will always have days like that. I'm like a magnet for those moments and I always have been...

May 1986

I am a wimp! I only got 3 seconds on the arm pull, it is sort of like chin-ups, except you don't go up then down, you go up and stay up and you count how many seconds you stay up, oh, well,I hope I get good grades, this doesn't affect your grade, but I do hope I get good grades. C says I gave him rabies and he says E gave him rabies and aides and all of that and he also bit me: HARD! He doesn't have any resemblance to human life, he's a weird looney bin! In a psyco house! He is not exactly what i want to write about! especially him gosh! He is strange. well, my trip to yosemite wasn't the greatest trip I've ever been on, but it wasn't to bad to speak about: Like C - Gross. I don't really like E as much as I used to, she acts like I'm someone stupid, like a jerk! Oh well, she is still my friend ALWAYS SHE WILL BE!

PS. C.E. will be my friend for ever and ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, etc.