Apparently, Chooch’s singing skills are sufficient enough to get him an invitation to the All City Chorus. There’s a handful of rehearsals that take place Saturday mornings at a school on the North Side, culminating in some big hoedown at the August Wilson Center in May. Chooch said he wanted to do it, so I did the parental thing and signed the permission slip, stuck the schedule to the fridge with a magnet, and then actually managed to remember the first rehearsal was this past Saturday.
I’m getting really good at this mom thing. I’m almost as good of a mom as Henry!
We arrived at the school early, thanks to my inability to ever be late in life, and thus began a 2 and a half hour slowdive into the seedy underbelly of the juvenile choral industry. Originally, Henry and I were going to sneak away after the first few minutes (that sounds way more scandalous than it would have been), but then I found myself DEEP IN IT. My disdain for other children is oftentimes similar to the pain of a toothache — if I ignore it, I forget it’s there. YET I’LL SIT HERE AND PRACTICALLY SWORD-FIGHT IT WITH A TOOTHPICK because I’m a fucking sadomasochist.
So I began to seek out kids to hate. I scanned the middle section of the auditorium, looking for the kids that were prone to making my blood boil. Luckily, there was an entire half of a row of them right across from me.
Some broad was passing out folders to all of the kids who didn’t bring one (um, mine being one of them because nowhere did it say PARENTS SEND YOUR CHILD WITH A FOLDER). Everyone who needed one raised their hand and then she counted off how many each row needed and handed them to the first person in each row.
The row that I was fixating on had about 5 kids on the end closer to me, a bunch of empty seats, and then three more kids on the end. One of those three kids had their hand up, and Broad told the kids closest to our end to pass the extra folder down to the girl in need, but as soon as Broad walked away, one of the kids lazily handed the folder off to some kid in front of him. SOME KID WHO DIDN’T EVEN NEED A FOLDER.
I was all up-in-arms over this.
Henry thought I was White Knighting the girl and mumbled, “Don’t worry about the other kids. Our kid got a folder and that’s all that matters.”
I’m not WORRIED about other kids. I just DISLIKE kids and hate missing an opportunity to start shit. And I hate INJUSTICE!!!!
I wanted to tattle so badly, but Henry advised against that.
Still, I had my eyes on that kid from then on. He done motherfucking marked himself.
“He’s not even singing!” I hoarsely whispered later, and Henry shot me the LET IT GO eyes.
The rest of the class was pretty boring. The instructor, some short dude who is apparently my age but looks way older took a lot of time out to teach this band of Yinzer rabblerousers how to properly enunciate things, and I found myself quietly following along in my seat. That was fun but I promise you I went right back to my lazy enunciating ways.
“I don’t know how people have the patience to teach kids. I would have quit by now,” I spat sourly.
“Pfft. You wouldn’t have even shown up,” Henry said. TOUCHÉ MOTHERFUCKER.
The definite highlight for me was when Mr. Instructor lost his shit in a very calm, calculated manner and said, “You know what I think is the rudest thing ever? When I’m trying to teach and a bunch of kids are talking over top of me.” YEAH BOY. PUT THOSE LITTLE DICKS ON BLAST!
So that actually ended up being a pretty entertaining time-suck. The instructor said that the song they’ll be singing with all of the older kids at the recital is going to be We Are the World, and that fucking song has been stuck in my head all week without them even practicing it.