I needed some discretional money. You know, money that didn't have to be discussed, thought about, or checked on the American Express bill. I had a specific purpose in mind. A couple of weeks ago a flyer (flier? I never know) came home from the kid's school announcing an essay contest for people to say what they think the school stands for. The winner would receive eighty dollars and it was open to adults! I knew this was my chance.
I spent an hour or so and wrote up an essay and turned it in the day of the deadline. It was an essay full of tender sentences about my ancestors and my children. It used descriptive sentences, had a good title, and it had a lot of emotional punch. I was pleased.
Last Friday they were announcing the essay winners at the Fall Festival. The Fall Festival is like a church party on steroids. There are about 900 people running around putting bids on auction items, eating, square dancing, standing in line for balloons, making crafts, or if you're under twelve -- running wildly. I got a call a couple of hours before the party started from the Vice-Principal of the school.
"Melonie, we loved your essay. Since it is the 40th anniversary of the school, we want you to read your essay at the Fall Festival."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, no. It was great."
"I mean, there are a million people running around yelling. Its not exactly the best venue for reading an essay."
"It will be fine. I'll make everyone be quiet before you start. I'll tell them they need to show some respect."
(hesitating) "Okay, I quess. If that's what you want."
"Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"You'll need to read it through a bullhorn."
"What??"
"The microphone system isn't that great, so we'll be using a bullhorn. I'll hold it for you like a microphone while you read your essay."
(I start laughing). "Okay, we'll make it work somehow."
We arrived at the Festival early. I ate quickly, knowing I was about to put on the performance of a lifetime. I was a little nervous...I mean, he never said that I won or anything...he just said they wanted me to read the essay through a bullhorn. Maybe they just wanted comic relief.
Winners were announced...third place...second place....first place...ME! Yes! By this time, people were pouring in to the huge school gymnasium. You could barely hear yourself speak. It was chaos. I weaved my way through the tables with balloons to the stage. This is where I expected him to ask everyone to be quiet and have some respect. That didn't happen. He just handed me the essay with a big grin on his face.
I'm feeling totally uncomfortable.
"Umm. I don't think reading this outloud is such a good idea, right now," I plead.
"It will be fine. Go ahead."
I looked out on about 500 people all milling about and paying no attention. The noise was deafening. I see one person looking up expectantly at me...It's my love, D'Artagnan.
I try to make a joke to cover my complete disbelief that this is happening to me. "I know why the school chose my essay. Its the 40th anniversary of the school and I'm 40 too. Whooo hoooo! Happy Birthday!" No one laughs. No one notices, except one faint "Whoo hooo!" from somewhere deep in the crowd.
The vice-principal says in an impatient voice. "Just read the essay."
I leaned into the bullhorn. "My story could begin anywhere. It weaves itself far back in time and it is my hope that it will weave itself far in the future. However, for this moment, I choose to begin the story on a small island in the Irish Sea called Mann. It sits like a calm, green turtle in the middle of turbulent waters." and so on it went until I came to a part about my children. I break up. I start crying. I'm a mess. I'm bawling into a bullhorn in front of a crowd of 500 that aren't even listening.
I get control because I think of a tip my singing sister told me. Separate. Separate. Separate the emotions and words. I dig deep and separate. I put on my acting voice.
"My children are children of liberty and with that liberty comes choice. We chose to educate our children where they can explore their relationship with God, value America’s freedoms, and gain tremendous personal characteristics that will aid them throughout their lifetimes." blah, blah, blah, I drone on over the crowd....until it happens again. I read a part about my children and I start crying again. I turn to the "Vice" as I now call him.
"Please, please, can I stop."
"You only have one more page to go. Keep going."
I shore up the overflow and keep reading. It takes a lifetime to finish that essay. Finally, its over. They hand me the check and I go weave my way back to the crowd to D'Artagnan's waiting and smiling face.
"How'd I do?" I ask timidly.
"I don't know. I didn't hear a thing."
It was the hardest eighty dollars I've ever earned.
P.S. I should have written down the fact that the bullhorn actually turned into a microphone at the last minute, but it made good copy to write it as is..and it gave you a laugh, didn't it?
