Getting High (Jr. Edition)

Ever gone out of your comfort zone and deliberately entered into enemy territory? As a mild mannered 11 year old entering the adult world of Junior High School?

7th grade held no auspicious beginnings for me. Unceremoniously dumped by my lifelong (so far) best friend, because
my Mom wouldn’t agree to letting me host a “surprise” birthday party for her that she was determined to have,
I headed out solo on the first day of school. Later, Mom confessed she watched me amble down the street in
my new fiaco black and white striped pencil skirt my Grandma had sewn, and with my trendy ducktail haircut, courtesy 

of the local Barber. A lonely vision of sophistication ready to burst onto the scene. She wept.

Apparently I would be in need of a new best friend off the bat as Pam continued to ignore me even after
summer vacation ended and school began. Indeed, for the rest of my life. Hell hath no fury like a former

friend. So I figured a good way to make new friends with so many unfamiliar faces in that more sophisticated 

environment would be to join after school clubs and get involved in shared activities. What choice did I have?

Plan A- Try out for the popular super duper Choral Club. Of course! But only logical if you can at least carry a
tune, and I was under no illusion that I could. However, being extremely shy, I actually had invented lip syncing
long before it was discovered in the real world (you're welcome), so I mustered up the courage to go wait outside the room on the appointed afternoon for auditions.* When my turn came, I hesitated, then in an out-of-body moment, gingerly stepped in front of the music teacher and the student officers of The Club.  

What was I thinking? It dawned on me that I was going to have a difficult time lip syncing when I was told

to sing a certain number acapella, as it were. Glancing quickly at the floor, I saw no gaping hole to fall into. 

I waited for a miracle. Where was God when you truly needed him? I had no choice but to open my mouth and 

see what could possibly emerge from it. 

Yep, you can only imagine. It wasn’t pretty. Understatement. Even though I dared not look at them,
somehow I saw their astonished faces. I think they were too stunned to laugh. Or cry. Yeah, no call back, go
figure. No becoming one of the elite. Unbelievably, I was allowed to remain in school and no one harassed me.
At least, not to my face. Maybe they couldn’t believe their ears? Fortunately most of the student body missed
the audition and the entire incident missed being mentioned in the school paper, so I wasn’t treated like the
pariah I knew myself to be.

Plan B- Give it a rest. Wait. Till next year. Try again. Of course nothing musical. Actually the Speech Club (Drama Club) was THE most prestigious, most vaunted club to be a part of at Abbott Jr. High, so why not? Some people never learn.  Last year had to sing. This year had to speak. And I was no better at that than singing. Club Advisor Marge Zarndt had been a teacher even way back in ancient times. When my parents were in High School. A relic. A  4’10” veritable relic. With dyed blond hair, strident voice, obnoxious personality, miles on her wheels. She was a pistol. What did I expect? A resounding no? Good, then at least I wasn’t disappointed. I’d tried and proved myself yet again.

So it was with the greatest unexpected pleasure several weeks later that I was able to grant her fondest request 

when she came to me on bended knee (well not literally or I wouldn’t have been able to see her) and begged me to 

join her Speech Club. Yes, it’s true!  

Want to hear the rest of the story? For an assignment in Mrs. Zarndt’s speech class a few weeks following my greatly

failed attempt, we each had to come up with a monologue to perform in Speech class. Are you kidding? Me? My folks nixed the sudden trip to Alaska, and I was unaware of any long distance relatives I could be shuffled off to. So somehow I came up with a monologue. 

And then and there in front of a skeptical class and a jaded, Doubting Thomas teacher, I mysteriously transformed into a fairy tale character from another time and place. Dressed in a long peasant skirt with bright scarves around my waist, hiding an almost professional fake finger that I’d sewn out of flesh colored panty hose- I suddenly tossed it into the middle of the room at the end of my story. The art of disguise can release a magic all its own. I lost my bashful identity in becoming someone else. I’d found my voice!  

The class was mesmerized, the teacher, spellbound. I had no idea what had happened, or how.  All I knew was that later that day Mrs. Zarndt  trekked through the school to find me in another class, and in her best rendition of a humble human, begged me to join THE CLUB.  What else could I do?  I gave in.

*Truth-

Yes, I absolutely did invent lip syncing back in the day. In order to coax me out of my shell in 5th grade, my parents signed me up for both private singing lessons and elocution lessons. Guess they were desperate. Violet Brady Stewart was my singing teacher, a very big older woman with a very big powerful voice. She would play the piano and sing along with me whatever musical piece she chose for me to sing. At the end of the year just before the recital, my Dad came into her house with me to see how I was shaping up. He was totally deaf in one ear, so even with his hearing aid for the other, not the best at hearing, so he was a bit apologetic when remarking to her after my private performance that he couldn't hear me at all.  "Well, yes," Mrs. Brady Stewart responded.  "I've never actually heard her voice either."  

I was excused from the recital.