Posted by
Arik on Saturday, February 14, 2009 10:50:45 PM
Unlike in the world inhabited by our leaders in Washington, in the Real World, choices have consequences. Even the seemingly most inconsequential decisions we make can have long-lasting, far-reaching effects. I would like to illustrate this with a more or less true story that actually happened in almost exactly the way I'm going to tell you.
It's odd, really. I have loved music ever since I was very young, but I REALLY hated music class, from kindergarten all the way through eighth grade. Sometimes in elementary school, all the music classes, from all six grades , got together at night and held a concert for all the parents of the kids, who naturally pretended that the program was the most beautiful thing they'd ever heard. Mostly, I think we were probably pretty lousy, or worse. It was a public school to begin with, and it wasn't one of those public schools specializing in a certain area of the arts and sciences. I guess I first realized this later, when I learned that most people sing from sheets with notes on them, not just lyrics. I also learned, later, about a thing called harmony, where not everybody sings the exact same note at the exact same time. I still can't actually SING harmony, but then, I'm a tenor, so I don't have to.
During my years of elementary school, there were also times when all the students would assemlble in the gym, in what we called, appropriately, assemblies. We had some pretty cool stuff come through our gym (which seemed huge at the time, but the last time I was in there, a few years ago, seemd really tiny), including magicians, a yo-yo expert and the man who wrote and illustrated the "Clifford the Big Red Dog" books, which was kind of awesome. The particular assembly I'm thinking of right now, however, involved the ninth grade choir from the Junior High that was literally just up the street from my elementary school. We were separated by only a sledding hill and and a football field. Well, this choir came down to our gym and put on a show involving forty-five minutes of dancing and singing, and they all looked like they were having a great time while they were at it, which was kind of the opposite of what OUR music programs consisted of. The whole experience left a small impression on an impressionable young kid.
While I was disliking music class, I also had opportunity to attend another class that I disliked exponentially more than music class: gym. I have never been the most nimble of athletes. "Bull in a china shop" is probably one of the more charitable ways to describe my athletic prowess. Nevertheless, I was required to attend on a regular basis, which I did, except when I could weasel a "Note from Mom" to get out of actually taking part. I was neither fast nor strong nor anything that one would expect of an athlete, except big enough to be an offensive lineman on the school flag football team, which I did, poorly, for a couple of years. In fact, I seldom missed an opportunity to highlight my athletic inability, leading to several years warming the bench in not only football, but basketball (I could actually shoot free throws, as long as I wasn't required to dribble or actually move), and baseball (T-ball the first year, and one hit total in two full years of actual Little League pitching).
So, fast forward a few years and I'm in eighth grade music class. Between my seventh and eighth grade years, our school change from a junior high to a middle school, moving sixth grade to the middle school, and the ninth grade to the high school. There were cahnges in the way classes were scheduled, and a "Common Learning Period," which was essentially code for time spent doing nothing particularly constructive. This was the result of some liberal education theory at the time that had gained currency, and essentially changed very little in what we actually learned, or how we went about learning it. It simply meant that money had to be spent researching the change, implementing the change, and reviewing how the change went. Also changing the name on the building. For the most part, its effect on students was pretty much minimal, except that Home Economics and Shop went from "Pick One for the Whole Year" to "Take Both, One Each Semester."
Anyway, during my eighth grade year, we alternated days between gym class and music class. I thought this was pretty ideal, as it didn't allow for too much irritation to build up from either class, as a result of too many consectutive days of either class. Actually, once a month in music class, we had what was called "Free Music Day," or some similar thing, where we got to bring in records (remember those?) and the teacher would attempt to screen them for objectionable material that we tried, occasionally successfully, to sneak through. Do you remember the fuss about supposed "Backwards Secret Messages to Satan" in the Led Zeppelin song "Stairway to Heaven?" Not only was this during those days, but the teacher who got hammered for it taught at our city high school. So, to say things were a little tense would be an understatement. We couldn't even sneak in Journey's "Open Arms," a big hit at the time, although I did manage to sneak in "Pi$$ on the Wall," by the J. Geils Band. Adding to the amusement value was the fact that our teacher was highly religious, and we were all Godless Public School Heathens.
It was in this class, on a stormy day, that a fateful announcement came to us. The other music teacher (there were two) came in to "speak to us" about the choir program at the high school. He gave a long spiel about this, that and the other, most of which I don't remember, or wasn't really important to me, in any case. What stuck out in my mind was this: whereas the majority of people had to have gym class every day for a full semester, people in choir got to go Every Other Day. Granted it was then for the whole year, thus stringing out the agony, but I wouldn't have to worry about Residual Gym Class Irritation Buildup. I thought, then, of the choir show I had seen at in my elementary school gym, and the fun they had seemed to be having while they were doing it. Oddly, it didn't occur to me at the time that I would actually have to do things like sing, or put on concerts, but what are you going to do?
So, needless to say, I signed right up.
The next year, I showed up for my first day of choir class, and realized the speech hadn't been all that effective on anyone else. There were ten of us in the boys' choir, which met separately from the girls' choir. Not only that, but there was actual sheet music to read from, not just a mimeographed lyric sheet. To add to the problem, I was categorized as a bass, which means simply that nobody else's voice had changed yet either. This required me to sing harmony, which, as I said before, I hadn't even heard of prior to that day. Rounds like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" were as close to actual harmony as I had ever been. And there were only ten of us, only two with prior experience, to attempt to make beautiful music. Not a whole lot of places to hide.
To my credit, and my everlasting surprise, I made it through. This had a lot to do with actually enjoying the work (which came as quite a surprise to me), although I suspect in the end it was a young teacher who was too inexperienced to know how hopeless a situation he was dealing with. To him I give a world of credit for making the experience not only educational, but a whole lot of fun.
From there, it was on to what was called Advanced Choir, which was basically the same group of guys from the year before, except now we were Sophomores. Our choir director was older than our first teacher, though not by much, and she was much more experienced in the field. In an interesting coincidence, I found out later, was that the choir show at my elementary school was directed by none other than my new choir director, in her last year before going to the high school. Between the beginning of freshman year, and the middle of sophomore year, everyone's voices had started changing. For everyone else, this meant deeper, more masculine voices. For me, it meant my voice started to resemble Mickey Mouse. I ended up as a second tenor. Bonus: I got to sing melody, not harmony.
My dad spent thirty-some years as a draftsman at Goodyear, which, I found out in later years, was not a job he much cared for. Not the drafting part, and not really even the Goodyear part, but a long, deep, complicated tale, the whole of which I, even to this day, am not completely knowledgable about. There were some interesting benefits, though, one of which was access to good seats for season tickets at Goodyear Community Theater, which was truly outstanding in its class. We went to many shows there, including a lot of musicals, which were my favorite. So, when the time came to audition for our school musical, it was only natural, being in choir, that I would try out.
I didn't make it my freshman year, when "The King and I." I did go to see the show, and was very impressed. I found out later that our high school was known in the area for the quality of its music and theater program, particularly the vocal music department led by my choir director. When they threatened to cut our choir and musical theater programs if we didn't pass a levy, she kindly reminded the administration that the department was pretty much self-supporting, and that the Broadway musicals every year actually turned a profit.
My sophomore year, I got a bit part in "Guys and Dolls," which is to say I was on stage for almost a full ten seconds. For this, I attended rehearsals faithfully for ten weeks, two to five hours a night, and sometimes weekends. I think our directors (we had three: I Music Director - our choir director; a Drama Director - a Spanish Teacher; and a Dance and Artistic Director - the Director of another great local community theater, Weathervane, and a great dancer as well) felt sorry for me, as they saw I was there pretty much constantly with little to do besides homework and reading. So I became the "Backstage Director."
In that capacity, I was responsible for making sure props were where they were supposed to be, and for making sure that set changes got done the way they need to be done. I took pretty readily to the job. As unlikely as it may seem to those who know me well, I actually am a very good organizer when I abssolutely have to be, and with a cast of eighty kids, I kind of had to be. Still, it wasn't all easy. In fact, I believe it was the most cursed show our school had ever done, and remained that way at least through my tenure there. There were several injuries. One of the crew apparently left one of the outlet hole in the floor open, which led to one girl, playing a minor but pivotal role, breaking her leg. One of our dancers fell down the stairs to the dressing rooms and sprained her ankle. A podium didn't get moved, and when a backdrop came down on it, one girl tried to catch it and broke her fingers. And, one of the lead was straddling the pipe at the bottom of a backdrop when it started going up, lifting her, easilythree feet in the air before she fell. If you don't know, the backdrops are weighted down by a pipe weighing easily two hundred pounds, and they go up and down very quickly. Yeah, serious pain. Fortunately, the kids I went to high school were pretty tough: Not one even missed an entrance, much less a performance, despite their various injuries.
Someone who was angry with me for my Little Hitler act as Backstage Manager once told me that the position was a joke position, that they gave it, essentially, to the person that had the least stage time. I told them that that was fine, but that I was going to treat it seriously, because I wanted to do the best job I could. After the final show, that same person told me that I had done a great job, and that the show had run much smoother than any of the other three he'd been in. Even now, almost a quarter of a century later, that makes me feel good.
Just a side note: when you go to see a live performance, between scenes, watch for the stage crew. What goes on behind the scenes, and how it's accomplished can be as fascinating as what is actually on stage, sometimes more so, especially at a lousy show.
The next year, there were two possibilities for choir - the Junior/Senior Choir, and the A Cappella Choir. The difference was night and day as to which one you wanted to be in: A Cappella Choir was the one you had to audition to get into, and gave you a chance to be in the school show choir, The Melodymen and Melodettes, affectionately referred to as the M&M's. That the pinnacle of high school music, and was truly the place I wanted to be.
Due to the lack of interested guys from my junior class, as well as the extra attention possible due to such a small group of sophomoes, I happened into a spot on the A Cappella Choir, which was really cool, since, for the first time, the boys and girls were together in the same class. Not that it did ME any good, but it was really pretty cool, nonetheless. We had a number of concerts during the year, which were were always well attended, especially considering the auditorium seatd close to a thousand people. I got to share the stage with some very talented people, both in the choir and in our spring musical that year, "Kiss Me, Kate."
If you haven't seen "Kiss Me Kate," you ought to: It's pretty good. It's about a theater company trying to put on a gloriously awful musical version of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew," featuring music by Cole Porter. It features a lot of difficult language, an lot of tough choral parts, and a lot of screaming and yelling, primarily, but not limited to, the actual directors trying to get the cast to get the difficult language and tough choral parts correct. This year, up to and including final dress rehearsal, we never finished the entire three hour show in less than five hours. Somehow on opening night, it all came together and went pretty much perfectly. This year, I had my very first opportunity to sing a solo on stage, consisting of one line of five words. I upped my stage time to almost three minutes this year, and had several little bit parts.
The year ended, however, on a down note. I didn't get into the M&M's, which was my dream throughout high school. This really sucked.
The next year, a few weeks in, I got called in to our choir director's office, and was offered a position on the stage crew with the M&M's, which involved travelling with the group not only to their competitions around the state, but to their first national competition in California. This was not quite what I'd envisioned, but it would more than suffice. It actually involved mostly handling props and making things appear almost like magic. I also had more stage time than I had in my first spring musical. I was pumped.
It was a pretty good year, all told, though with a few pretty awful moments. We won the competitions we went to, in state, and did not win the national competition due to what I can only describe as blatant favoritism on the part of the judges. We missed a competition when our two best athletes, and two of the most popular students, were killed in a car crash after a Cavs game. I didn't know either of them, but the fathers of both were teachers at our school, and it hot the whole school pretty hard, to the tune of a couple days off school. And I'm not making light there: Our school superintendant wouldn't cancel school for anything short of a full-on blizzard, so you know it was pretty bad.
The best thing that happened to me all year was when my director told me that, if I had been as good at the beginning of the year as I was at the end, that I would definitely have made the group as a performer. That might not seem like a lot to most people, but to me, a guy who'd never really even thought of joining a choir four years before, and with no real formal training in the art, that was high praise from someone I really respected, and still do respect very highly.
So, off I went to college. I decided to take voice lessons and join the choir, which wasn't a show choir, but a concert choir specializing in all sorts of classical music, from baroque to opera to American folk and back again. Our choir was directed by a man who, to this day, I believe is about the most talented singer I've ever heard. He was also responsible for the voice lessons. I wish that I had been focused and disciplined enough to take my studies more seriously. I might really have made something of myself in the music world. Or not, you never can tell. But it would have been nice to take a serious shot at it.
But, anyway, I spent two years in the concert choir, and did some theater, including the musical "Godspell," where I had my first solo of more than five words. We toured the Northeast several times, singing in Boston, Greenwich, Connecticut, and Washington D.C. among others. The highlight of the tours was a couple of songs in front of the altar at St. Patricks Cathedral in New York City. That was also the trip I went to the top of the South Tower of the World Trade Center for the first time. I know thousands of people were up there over the years, but I always what it was like up there, and then think of the people that might have been up there THAT day. (Although, I believe it was too early for the observation deck to have been open. Had it been an hour later, the death toll would have likely been tens of thousands.)
All in all, that's a pretty good run I had for a decision made because I basically hated gym, but it doesn't yet explain the FiFteen Years of Agony.
After my sophomore year of college, I ran somewhat short of funds, meaning there wasn't likely to be a junior year the following year. So, I made my way home after spending the summer working security, and got a job at the local hospital as a file clerk. Actually, I went through a temporary agency, which is why I always like to say that I spent that year as a Kelly Girl. At the time, and maybe still today, Marietta College had what was called "Four-Day Break," which fell a week or two before homecoming in October. I had three good friends that I had met through my time in theater and in the MC Concert Choir, and they decided to take a trip for Four-Day Break, culminating in a night with me before heading back to school.
Now it's painfully obvious, at least to me, especially at the time, that there is one thing conspicuously absent: a girlfriend. I had dated a few times in high school, and I had a lot of friends who were girls, but no one that I could call a girlfriend. It was to the point where, when combined with my proclivity toward the theater, even my brother thought I was gay. Oops.
Well, over Four-Day Break, my friends came up, and I hit it off with one of them in a way that we hadn't quite hit it off before. By the end of the weekend, I was promising to make the trip to Homecoming, which I had not previously intended on making, especially as I hate dancing in public. The intention, on the part of my other two friends (who now have been married to each other, incidentally, for fifteen years), was to put the third friend and I together and see what happened, little beknownst to me.
When I got to the dorm room on Saturday evening, before we went to dinner, we all ended up waiting for one person, who was running late. Eventually they called her and she told them she thought she was going to skip out on the evening. Now, what comes next is horribly, HORRIBLY, out of character for me. I asked, "Is she cute?" (Okay, that's not so out of character.) The reply was: "When she wants to be." Which was enough to pique my interest. I asked for her number, and called her out of the blue, which is not something I would ever do, as I am, surprisingly to those who know me, a bit shy. I actually talked her into coming along, and to my eternal surprise, she said "Okay."
So, I waited by the front door of the dorm, watching from behind the stairs, when behold, a Vision in Blue. She most certainly was much more than cute: She was beautiful. Not in the supermodel, cover of Vogue, made-up and plasticized way, but just in a very natural way that hit me REALLY hard, and not only in a naughty way. We ended up sitting next to dinner, and at the dance, disappeared into the upstairs, where we shared our first kiss. And our second. And our third. And more than I can even remember, now. Our friends were a little torqued, not only because their best-laid plans had gone astray, but because we ended up rapt and wrapped in each others arms. This went so much faster than anything I'd ever experienced before, I just couldn't believe it was happening to me: Love at First Sight.
The night seemed to last forever, but was gone in the blink of an eye. To her credit, she didn't sleep with me that first night. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on either, but she kept her honor, if you know what I mean. Not for lack of me trying. But seriously, we mostly talked and cuddled and kissed, which was just wonderful.
There were a lot of good days after that, followed by some really bad days, mostly, but not completely, my fault. The friend that I was supposed to end up with turned out to be the lucky one. It probably never would have worked to begin with. She's too nice, and I'm too warped. Fortunately, I had found someone whose warps complemented mine. We had many ups and downs, and never thought we'd get to where we did: The Wedding Bell Chapel on Fifth Avenue in San Diego. That was March 22, 1994.
I've not been the perfect husband. In fact, living with me can be a very painful experience. I know. I've done it. I wasn't perfect before, I wasn't perfect after, I'm not perfect now, nor am I likely to attain perfection in the future, near or far. And yet, through all the problems, through my Navy career, my alcoholism (three and a third years sober, and counting), through two pregnancies, and through all the crap that I've handed her, she still loves me, and she's still with me. And that, my friends, is Fifteen Years of Agony. Her Agony. And all because I really Hated Gym.
Happy Valentine's Day.
I Love You, Katie!