Stages and consequences

“OK. We’re agreed. No stupid rocks this year. We’re corn or nothing. Or we’ll hold our breath until we turn blue – in traffic.”(1930’s Our Gang.USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

It was a mistake

Taking out all those school stages with dusty velvet curtains and pianos huddled at the side.

And now, vaguely missing something, they are hit the streets.

Desperately improvising. Trying to fill the void.

Those grade school productions – hated by music teachers, dreaded by art teachers – they were society’s salvation and few knew.

Each child given a role: some trees, some sunflowers, ladybugs, the butterflies for the coordinated ones who could wave their arms and not fall down, coveted lines to speak for the golden few.

(Some their rock role seriously and went on to other stages.)

There’s a theory by some in child development that there’s a series of steps that must be taken at the right time in the right sequence or the child will always be missing a key component.

That’s what these are looking for: a key. They certainly don’t have a clue.

So the general public gets stalled by mid-twenty somethings setting up a little kid’s basketball goal and proceed to play a game during rush hour of a busy street intersection. (Until one driver careened by clipping the My Tyke plastic goal post and dragged it a few yards.) Only to dash home and post it all on social media. (Video here and interview here)

It was like this…except in the intersection. Little Tykes company will probably have to start including an instructive video and a warning to not place goal in the street or play in traffic just in case toddlers can read or parents know lawyers. (Littletikes.com/basketball)

Then there’s the daredevil motorcyclists doing high speed wheelies and tricks worthy of Buffalo Bill’s rodeo riders all out there among traffic on major freeways. Their antics recorded by helmet cams to be posted, boasted, and celebrated.

If only these lost little people had been allowed to be vegetables on stage.

To have their mommies and daddies beam as they hopped like frogs or bunnies in front of everyone.

To have experienced the queasy tummies before performances, but to stumble on to the stage anyway.

To know the pride as they ran off amid the happy applause. (And learned that if you tripped and fell, it was fine to just get up and go on – and the audience still love you. Although an unzip pant was a different story…)

“Lines? Of course I got a speaking role. Why would you ask?”
Everyone knew that girl. Her mom was either a teacher or her dad on the school board.(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Surely at some point some PhD will conclude that those contrived scripts and plots of elementary school dramas were formative and critical for proper development.

(You heard it here first. A piece of the No Bell Prize money graciously accepted.)

Oh, those wild acrobatic “crotch rocket” riders? Bumblebees. Perfect for bumblebees with their natural erratic moves and love of buzz.. Yep, missed out.

Early performances count. Don’t miss your cue.

All the world’s a stage,

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.

We never got chairs with our names on them. So unfair. How can we be motivated to achieve the future if not given a taste? Only tape on the cold hallway floor with out names penciled in….and that stupid kid that always smudged the names or moved them out of order so we got yelled at. And you couldn’t slug the kid ’cause you might mess up the show. (1929. Our Gang. USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

 

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