Nope, not wearing that kilt.

You are the only one who won’t cooperate. Men in Scotland wear kilts. It’s part of the celebration. All the others will be wearing them..  You’ll get a bad conduct grade.  You’re going to the principal’s office. We’ll call your parents.  Your father will miss work. (Could there be a more terrifying threat than that?)

But nope.  It wasn’t going to happen.

Threats, bribes, cajoling, and probably yelling, but no.

There was no way he was going to put on a skirt and dance around on the “slab” in front of the whole school, and their parents, and grandparents, and relatives , and all their friends.

Just calm, determined, persistent “no.”

Such stubborn resistance by a normally well-behaved child was a big deal in what is now considered “vintage” era. Few women worked – and then only in “respectable professions for women”:  as teacher, or nurse with white starched hats, or secretary serving coffee, pounding tall black Royal typewriters, and trying not to get the ink on their fingers from changing the ribbons.  Once married, women became June Cleaver housewives. And children sat neatly in rows, did what they were told, and were expected to be seen and not heard.

It was the annual,much-anticipated elementary school May Fête.

The fête’s theme arrived from the  administration building:  “Around the  World in 80 Days” (probably the movie came out that year or something…as themes frequently mirrored Hollywood). Each grade level, representing a country, would perform a folk dance, and wear colorful homemade costumes. Moms were not asked, but simply expected to create the costumes precisely as described by school instructions. There was always the option to pay someone to make the costume.  But few would choose that option – a matter of honor and pride.  At this time all moms sewed…or bravely tried. (But now, you have to wonder how many were actually sewn by grandmothers…or if every house saw the tears and anguish around the sewing machine this time of year?)

As the teachers passed out the costume instructions, patterns, and relayed which store had the bolts of fabric reserved under the school’s name, we wondered who our dance partner would be.  Before the matches were revealed, we silently crossed fingers and hoped for this one or that one .  In pubic, a great show of annoyance and distress was uttered as the paired names were read…EWWW! Oh NO! (even if it was the only-in-your- dreams choice).  But it shouldn’t have been a surprise:  height was always the determining factor.

Despite the 90+ heat and the blazing sun reflecting heat in waves off the asphalt slab, the teachers determinedly taught and re-taught the dance steps – one grade level at a time.  Continually repeating the prescribed routines…for days …for weeks…for ever.  Music and recess times were consumed by “the dance”. As May Fête
performance drew closer, we would be on the “assembly schedule” in order to have even more time to practice and perfect.  We stood wistfully on the “slab” arranged along the white circle outlines normally used for dodgeball and games.  Red chalk “X’s” with fading marks of blue or yellow attempted  to help us thorough the dances. Of course the “trouble makers” were constantly being yelled at not to erase the marks.  A boxy old record player with a very long extension cord played the grade level song over and over..and over – becoming scratchy from needle gouges as it was stopped and restarted repeatedly.  Sweat routinely rolled down our faces and necks.  But no one was excused.  We all began to wilt and get cranky.   Tall girls, stooping to appear less giraffe-like next to their partners, were admonished to stand up straight.  Boredom or distraction, or lack of attention was quickly corrected.  “Remember, all your family will be here to watch.” The goal was perfection – and the teachers were relentless.  They would be judged on their management and success of the performance.  Everyone would be there…including the main office administration.

Every single elementary school prepared for weeks for this grand spring event – the only bigger event in a child’s school life was the Halloween spaghetti dinner in the fall. (Considered better by kids because no one had to dance for that – maybe the school orchestra played, but it was mainly maniacal fun).  May Fête was not kid oriented.  It was for adults.  There were great rivalries between schools.  Competition between schools was fierce. The pressure to excel was ridiculously intense.

May Fête was a send-off celebration in honor of the 6th graders graduating to Junior High next fall.  We all envied them.  They would sit in chairs – while the rest of us squirmed on the hot lumpy asphalt ” slab” perimeters or sidewalks  The 6th grade boys fidgeted uncomfortably in snug collars with ties. The girls preened in party dresses, and unscuffed “Sunday shoes”.  They didn’t suffer in some grotesque costumes certainly not designed for comfort. They didn’t have to worry about some poorly done seams ripping open at an embarrassing time – always a real possibility.

After observing from their lofty perches the entire lower grades’ performances, the 6th graders would confidently file into their positions for their final May Fête dance.  Holding lovely “ribbons” of crepe paper, they whirled in intricate patterns around tottering May Poles.  Of course the boys always did the predictable things (the ones they were severely warned not to do:  like wrap the crepe paper around some girl’s neck as they wove in and out). And there was always some kid who lost a shoe (“Let’s buy the Easter shoes a little big so you can grow into them and wear them all summer”).  Usually at least one girl stepped crooked on her shoe’s”high” heel of unapproved height (“Mom, please – I can too walk in these.”), but managed to limp through the show.  And everyone just expected –  and accepted – the brightly colored crepe paper would rip and stain in damp sweaty hands.

Still, this was the May Fête – and the proud audiences always enthusiastically applauded all the grades. Afterwards, there would be punch and cookies with neighbors talking as the kids run around wildly snaking limp streamers torn from the May poles. Then everyone headed for home…relieved the rigors of the practices and performance was over until next year.

But this particular year things did not go as smoothly.

Whose great idea was it to have 5th grade representing Scotland? Who thought all students should wear kilts while they danced the Highland Fling?

Just didn’t go over well in my house.

It didn’t matter they had pictures of Scottish men in kilts.  There was no way – ever – my brother was going to wear a skirt.  (A little ironic as family ancestry traces back to  in Scotland.)  My dad sat him down, quietly reasoned, and talked, but the outcome didn’t change.  It was just too “sissyfied” – that’s what it was called in those days.  The next day the decision was made.  Dad informed the principal – that despite “all the others would wear them” – my brother would not.  Even though he was just a kid, he felt really strongly about it. He could sit it out or wear pants – which ever the school chose.

So that year as I hopped, skipped, and jumped to the Mexican Hat Dance, my brother danced the Highland Fling in pants.

Theatrically yours,

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the hedge

ps. my favorite May Fête performance was charging and galloping around as a mushroom in the Disney Fantasia theme year!

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