Things I Learned at the Faculty "Talent" Show

Last night I decided to accompany Rich to his school's faculty talent show. Let's be crystal clear here: Rich is a teacher at a JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL, one that I literally ran screaming from, clutching the only thread of sanity that was left in my feeble, nerve wracked (and Prozac influenced) psyche. I once swore that I would never set foot into that building ever again, and if I absolutely had to, I would be uber sneaky, stealthy even- complete with back against the walls maneuvers, forward rolls into shadows, and possibly dawning a ski mask- in order to avoid the sheer panic of having to pretend to be nice to a person who, at the time, emotionally strangled me. Plus, I figured the building itself was poison.

So, last night I decided to go to the talent show there. Why? Because I am a moron. And because I never get to see Rich - the husband who works three jobs to make sure we can afford daycare AND diapers- and I wanted to support him since he is constantly helping me at my school. He was not performing this time - thank God!*- and we were simply going as spectators. Five glorious years have passed since I worked there, and, anyway, I had been practicing my forward rolls, though this is extremely difficult (and not recommended) for pregnant women.. I figured I could take it.

You have to understand that there are dear, dear folks who are trapped work at Rich's school. These people are like family to us because in order to survive, we formed clans as coping mechanisms. It's akin to being in the military - you are especially close to your squad since you and "your brothers" have gone through and seen things that no one will ever understand unless you've been in the trenches together. A bond is formed. And whenever you bump into these people in "the real world," you run to them with your arms open, even if the only thing you have in common is that war-time experience.

OK. It sounds like I'm exaggerating, and I admit that my metaphor is extended far beyond the necessary boundary, but you get what I mean.

Anyway, I went to the talent show (sans ski mask, but only because Rich made me leave it in the car). I saw my squad and greeted them with kisses and hugs (and belly rubs - their hands, my belly for clarification). We held hands, even, and touched up each other's war paint. That was nice and needed.

I also saw her: the person who was so mean and heartless to me that I ran from the building screaming... (as described before)... into the arms of a new job that I absolutely ADORE. I was, as usual, completely insincere with her, our fake smiles and disingenuous conversation. Ick. I still feel smarmy. But I survived the encounter one more time, a feat that takes amazing talent, or possibly a course or two in car salesmanship or Western politics..

But overall I was actually glad to go. (Don't tell Rich.. ) And the actual talent show? There wasn't much to say about that, except that whoever actually invented amateur talent shows, especially ones at church camps and junior high schools, needs to be severely flogged - repeatedly - during the (never ending) lip sync act(s) or, even better, as the finale. In comparison, though, this is a non-issue.

* Someday ask me about the infamous night in an Edinburgh hostel and our encounters with Johnny Cash and Jimmy Buffett. Or maybe not.