Thursday, December 09, 2004
Repressed Memories
The national nightmare (okay, maybe not national, but the tri-state area's nightmare, then) is over: G-Unit is no longer stuck in my head.
However, it has been replaced by a song just as evil: Neil Diamond's "Coming To America".
Those of you who know the song will realize how painful this must be for me and, surely, will send sympathy my way. However, those of you who went to elementary school will know why this hurts so badly and feel my pain.
You see, it all dates back to fifth grade.
Our school had a "Living History Fair" as a way of getting us involved in history. And a way to get the whole school out of teaching for two days.
We all gathered in the auditorium and had to go up to the front, one by one, and pick a name out of a hat. That sounds sort of odd and similar to The Lottery, yes? The whole process just took on a new, creepy meaning. Shudder. Anyway, this was the person we'd be playing in the history fair and doing a report and project on. I lucked out and got Gloria Steinem, who is totally cool and had a kicking wardrobe. My friend Maureen got Lucille Ball (aside: Your wig? Straight up hilarious), Jill got Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Carol, a girl famous for being obsessed with Michelangelo from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (I'll tell the story at another time), was Bonnie Blair.
Let me backtrack and explain what, exactly, the history fair is. You pick your person and then you write a big report on them and do a project (poster, diorama, etc. I made my own issue of Ms. Magazine and a display of a march in NYC with a skyline and little Candyland figures holding picket signs. Hott!) on them. You would then bring your project to the auditorium which was set up with tables, and you'd sit there with your project and all of the other grades would come and walk around and visit each table and get your autograph. Did I mention that we were dressed up as this historical person as the time? Okay, we were. I got to wear bellbottoms and a cute shirt and big sunglasses and carried a picket sign. Let's face it, y'all, you wish you were me.
Before we got to sit and sign autographs (I practiced for weeks), we all had to enter the auditorium in a procession, while Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" played on repeat. We then all stood on the stage and recited the preamble to the Constitution, sang The Star Spangled Banner and all joined in singing that wonderful song "God Bless The USA" while all of the students watched. We also repeated this performance for parents.
Bizarre, no? But, really, listening to that song on repeat will drive a person mad. Mad, I tell you. So having it in my head, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, has brought psychological trauma back to the forefront.
It also reminds me of yet another part of my fifth grade experience-The Multicultural Megashow.
Our teachers brought in some Broadway actress woman (probably found snorting coke in a bathroom somewhere) to direct this "megashow". She had big crazy hair, and wore leotards and did impromptu dance routines. Our teachers were relieved to give her an hour of the day and ignored the fact that being in close proximity to such an obvious crackhead would promote some sort of lasting emotional trauma. She wrote this big play about how a group of diverse students learn from other cultures, complete with song and dance and a grand finale with lots of confetti.
All well and good, I suppose, but for the fact that we had two minority students in the grade. The story of five racially diverse people who travel to other cultures wouldn't work well with a lily white cast. Or would it?
She didn't consider this a problem, and cast us all with abandon. I, for example, was Native American. Mmmhmm.
Thankfully, I didn't have any solos, but I did have to participate in the group songs that are so heinous that I remember them to this day. Example:
Come see the land we built up here/see how all the rules are clear/see and if you feel some fear/ignore it, come and play/what about the people who aren't included?/what about the people who don't fit in?/what about the problems that we're ignoring?/what about the issues that do not need to be here, yet we have them?/save us today/we need a way/to celebrate diversity/honoring both you and me
Forcing us to sing songs like that--and trust me, the others were far, far worse, if you can imagine that, one was about talking drums and the chorus went "Ah, setu, setu, setui, setui, setui, setu". I swear--surely counts as some form of child abuse. That was called "Yup A Dup", for God's sake. They left us in the care of a woman who penned a song called "YUP A DUP". That's what a fancy schmancy, suburban New York education gets you. Songs about talking fucking drums!
Perhaps we can all muster up a class-action lawsuit....
If you're ever reading my entries and wondering if I'm on some sort of drugs, the answer is usually yes, but remember, please, that my attitude is exacerbated by the emotional impact of my year in the fifth grade.
Mallory at 12/09/2004 01:00:00 PM
1 Comments
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at 5:39 AM
Rayanne Graff said... Carol, a girl famous for being obsessed with Michelangelo from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (I'll tell the story at another time)
Yes, you must, you really must tell this story! My brother and I went through a severe TMNJ obsession: we were in the fanclub. He even had the costume. And Michelangelo was a party dude (and Raphael was cool, but rude).
Your school sounds seriously awesome. All we did at my school was laugh at the hookers hanging around outside, and throw glass at each other (all true, sadly).