Saturday, 09 May 2009
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Here's a bit of math for you, from a non-mathematics person: I'll bet that the level of anticipation the kids have for the annual talent show at my girls' elementary school is inversely proportional to the level of dread the teachers feel about having to sit through it.
I endured it a couple of years ago, just to hear Danielle get up and read a story. Part of what made the afternoon wretched was that it featured eight grades of talent, starting from the youngest and moving on up. As there were plenty from each grade that felt they had skills worthy of display, it was a long afternoon. By the time Danielle's turn came, the kids were restlessly talking amongst themselves. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd at the announcement that Danielle was going to read a book.
The other impediment to enjoyment was the definition of "talent." Yes, I sound harsh and elitist--it's an elementary school, not Julliard--but these are raw truths served up to explain why I will attend this event again only if I am paid handsomely to do so.
Out of the whole thing, there were maybe two or three acts that were remotely captivating. There was an excellent gymnastics routine, some competent tap dancing, and a cute trio of singers. Meanwhile, we were treated to some bad, timid tap-dancing, a twice or thrice-repeated "trick" involving audience volunteers and containing bizarre and off-putting violent imagery, and singing.
I've heard people say that children have a lot of wisdom, and we should listen to them. I usually sneer at this sentiment, but I had to admit that Danielle offered up an astute and instructive observation before this year's talent show when she said, "Singing really isn't a talent anymore, because so many people do it." Would that two-dozen parents or so would impart this gem to their children during show season!
Country songs were a popular choice the year I sat through--actually, one country song in particular. Sitting there in my metal chair looking around, I saw that right-hand section of the audience was teachers, sitting upright with an expression of polite alertness. I wondered how they stood it, and thought about how their hearts would get heavy around this time of year, and their minds distracted from their tasks so that mid-grading, mid-bulletin board decorating, they would drop their red pens or alphabet templates and fix their gazes off into the distance, with their minds far away.
I thought about how, if I had to sit over in that right-hand section, and the opening chords of "Jesus Take the Wheel" struck up once again, I would be darting glances toward the exit, desperately trying to come up with some pretext for getting out of there--urgent grading, angry parent, or science fair project erupting in flames, I wouldn't care.
This year, both of the girls joyfully "tried out" (I've figured out that this is mostly a filtering system to make sure the school doesn't get sued) and made it. I will try to get back to you soon about their talents, but before I go I will tell you that I was spared having to go. Their grandparents were here, and I couldn't have held them back from attending (on two different afternoons!) even if I had wanted to. After the second day, they took the girls out for a celebratory malt. As for what they were celebrating, you decide.
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