Warning: Some who read this may laugh, some may cry, and yet others may simply smile and say to themselves,”yeah, that explains it.”

I’ve had a few life experiences that may qualify as seminal events, but perhaps fifth grade choir may have been one of the earliest ones I guess. Of course, its been a long time since I was 10 years old, and to be honest, I’m not sure it was third, fourth or fifth grade, but I know it was a long time before I was shaving.

I’m not quite sure after all this time why I joined the choir in grade school. I don’t remember all the details but a few of them are planted like dried mud on my memory neurons. It’s really not clear to me, now that I think about it, why I joined the choir. Maybe the director heard my voice, as I yelled during little league baseball games and thought I had natural talent. No, that couldn’t be it. Or maybe they grabbed me by force at recess and made me go to choir practice because 80% of those who signed up were you guessed it: girls. They wanted a few token boys. But no self – respecting boy sporting bruised and abraded knees and elbows would ever sign up for choir.

So, there had to be a reason I joined this forbidden organization. But, I must say, I do remember this: there was a rumor that choir practice was at lunch, they served food and most importantly, there was a rumor that chorus singers were allowed to drink as many flavors of bottled pop (soda) as we wanted! And sure enough, that was true. I always chose 16-ounce bottles of coke. And Patty, that blonde, always sat across from me drinking ice – cold Fresca.

So, we practiced our chorus singing at lunch time, after consuming large amounts of pop and the singing I am sure was often interrupted by inappropriate carbonation burping. But who’s going to know the truth now?

And sure enough, it came time for our massive chorus performance, in the auditorium on the stage. We were as ready as the instructor could possibly get us. Our instructor gave us the dress code, which included white shirts and black pants. It may have even been suggested that we ask our moms to iron them, I don’t know. We were told the time to arrive early for the performance and of course all parents were invited. So, I went home, and I think I told my parents nothing. I got out some scissors and cut off a pair of black pants into some nice shorts. I found a white shirt somewhere and I went to the performance. Turns out, I was the only kid on stage, in the front row who wore black cut – off shorts, while all the other good kids wore their pressed long pants. I was in full view of the audience and couldn’t hide, and it was too late to turn back. Don’t ask me how I got this idea in my young brain – whether I heard the instructions incorrectly, or whether I just wanted to do it, but it happened.

So, I sang, crimson faced, trying to ignore the laughter in the crowd. Maybe they thought it was a comedy and I was born to be a comedian, but everyone knows I am only rarely funny, and that’s only on every other Thursday after lots of bacon for breakfast. Mostly I looked down so that I wouldn’t recognize people in the audience, and thankfully, a quick glance showed my parents weren’t there, and that was a relief. Not sure they would’ve understood their weird son.  But I knew Patty’s parents were there, and I am sure they told her to stay away from Carson after that.

So, time went on, and I thought I forgot about it, but there it is, rearing itself into my consciousness once again. I’ve recovered, at least I think about 80% recovered and never required therapy, or actually no one knew what therapy was back then. But the good thing is Patty still smiled at me while she drank her Fresca afterwards, so maybe she thought I was some kind of cool stud or something.

Perhaps this was a secret and seminal event in my life that was a sign for my future. Who knows.

©SRCarson