People who get sentimental about the good old days are a curious sort. I get it somewhat, as there are times in our lives where we are content, happy, peaceful or possibly a better version of our selves. We hear a song on the radio that was popular when we’re riding in the back seat of our parents Station Wagon. It evokes a memory, and that song sounds all that much better. Maybe that song can can take you back to that place and time.
Childhood, and we do not realize it at the time, can be pretty weird when viewed from the outside. As children we are trying get through the day to day. We never take notice of little things such as our uncles’ infatuation with our fifth-grade teacher. I remember sitting at Sunday family dinners and our uncle was well into his second or third cocktail. We would sit listening or watching the ending of The Eagles game. At the critical juncture in the game, our grandmother would break out the electric knife. She would carve away at meat we would soon consume. It was usually roast beef. The spark of the knife would send the television into a state of fuzzy unwatchable disarray. It was just the way it was.
The game would end, and we would start to migrate toward the dining room table. The conversation would predictably head in the direction of our schooling and of course Uncle B. would quiz me about Ms. Caffereli. I have no idea how he knew her and never thought about it at the time. He would talk about how classy and sexy Ms. C is and this would go straight over my head because Ms. Caffereli was a teacher that terrified me. She was a mean one.
And she dressed like a broadway star every day. She dressed daily like she had a date with Uncle B. at the Riverside Lounge. It is where they could meet every day.
Sexy Ms. Caffereli would spank you if you did something out of line. She spanked Julie in the front row. Julie always wore a dress that was too short for the occasion. We could see her under pants when she got a spanking. Fifth grade boys were starting to recognize things such as this. There was a girl named Elizebeth who smelled like a Fritos corn chip. On some days she smelled perfect and other days not. Fifth grade boys recognized things such as this. She never got paddled because she rarely spoke in class. In fifth grade I didn’t know there was a language other than English. Dora the Explorer was an embryo in somebody’s imagination at the time. Elizebeth was a hell of a singer.
That was my fifth-grade existence. I generally liked any learning experience, however Caffereli’s class was not one of them. I wanted to like that class more than anything because Katie Slaybell was in that class. I had an absolute crush on her despite the fact that I hardly knew her. When I talked to her it was usually in hyperbolic fifth grade speak. I had no idea why I could not speak coherent sentences around her. I forgot to mention Uncle B also asked me about Katie at Thanksgiving dinner. He did talk about bourbon and Frank Sinatra on occasion.
I digress on a semi related tangent because Ms. Caffereli was really into our concerts for the parents.
We had music class smack dab in the middle of the day, right before lunch. We didn’t go to music class, rather our teacher transitioned from Math to Music with little fanfare. Oh, that multi-talented, jack of all trades, Ms. Caffereli could do it all. She was not real big in the area of compassion. There were probably people in our classes who had weird uncles who were madly in love with our teacher.
She had us practice music almost every single day for about a week. It was the only time we had a music class that year. I don’t remember what song we sang over and over again. It was something catchy and easy to learn. It wasn’t “Unforgettable”.
I remember singing that song over and over again and still I can’t remember the song. I remember singing as well as I could, thinking I was singing beautifully. I had no idea why, but it felt great to be singing. There was a quick break and Ms Caffereli looked around the room like she had grandiose plans for our songs we were preparing for the parents. In a way she did.
She suggested that I not sing in the school presentation. She asked me to mouth the words so it appears like I am singing. Even when she said this to me, it never occurred to me that I could not sing.
It may have been one of the more difficult things I did that year. Can you imagine how difficult it is to not sing while the rest of your class is joyfully singing their lungs out. Even Julie was singing. My parents had no idea that I did not sing. They were not exactly music aficionados. I never told them I did not sing.
And those were different times. I never thought to question the decision not to sing. I never took the time to get upset. Which is upsetting. I actually do get mildly agitated when I think about this incident. I do love music and never had the confidence to pursue anything musical. I never even played a recorder. Singing Happy Birthday at times was more complicated than it should have been.
As an adult I sang to my kids, and they never complained. I guess that is all that matters.
The Side Effects of Endorphins 