the Old Mrs. Davis

I remember in third grade my school put on a variety show.  Each class from the elementary school would do a play, or a skit or sing songs.  This year we did a celebration of Texas.  My teacher, the Old Mrs. Davis, was also a piano player.  Kids referred to her as “the Old Mrs. Davis” because there was a young teacher at the school. She was also Mrs. Davis.  I don’t think they were related; they just shared the same name.  The Old Mrs. Davis was short and old. She wore printed dresses and senible shoes.  She had thick glasses and a simple hairstyle.  She was friendly.  She would always brag about her healthy smile.  It was her way of encouraging the students about good oral care. “I’ve never had a cavity in my life” she would brag.  Weeks before the school program, we kids would practice our songs and talk about what to wear.  We were far from being a professional performance group but was fun to out on a show.   The Old Mrs. Davis wanted all of the kids to wear dark blue jeans and plain red shirts.  The look would be made complete on the night of the programs when we would tape big white stars on our chests.  This would be a tribute to our Texas theme.  We were supposed to mimic the look of the Texas flag.

I loved music as a kid.  I would always sing along with the radio.  My mom loved country music. This was years after her disco phase.  I grew up on it.  One day during practice Mrs. Davis asked me to sing my part in front of the class.  She liked the way I sang.  So as the music started I watched Mrs. Davis behind the piano. She signaled me with a head nod so I would know when to start singing.  I started singing the first phrase. I was a little embarrassed.  My voice echoed of the walls in the cafeteria stage where we practiced.  The class clapped.  It felt good.  Mrs. Davis announced that they would be making the opening phrase to our Texas song a solo.  Imagine me, singing a solo.  This was something I never expected.  I was just a kid.  Nothing special had ever happened to me.   No one had ever given the opportunity to stand out.  It made me happy.  And other kids supported me.  These were the innocent years.  No one was jealous or made mean comments.  The support was genuine.

The night of the music program, all the kids were at arrive early to the high school. The high school had a real auditorium.  Our elementary had little more then a stage in the cafeteria.  It was a big deal to be performing at the high school.  All of the school parents got dressed up and came to watch their children. My mom put on some makeup and did her hair.  My mom had three of her kids in the programs. Each child was in a different grade.  She would be there the entire night.  They had each class meet our teachers in the gym behind the auditorium.  They would take roll and get us lined up.  The youngest grades went on first.  The older kids closed the show.  There were risers set up on stage for us to stand on. They reminded the kids on the back row not to fall off the back of the risers. Luckily no one fell backwards.   I was told to stand on the floor level at the end.  I was nervous as the curtain opened.  The bright floor lights made it hard to see the crowd.  I could hear the applause as they announce our class lead by Mrs. Davis.  Mrs. Davis motioned for me to step forward and up the microphone.  It was on a stand at the center round of the stage.  The black cord was curled down the mic stand and on the floor like a snake.  I stepped over it.  I didn’t want to get bit. Mrs. Davis nodded in support.  I looked forward as the intro music started.  Mrs. Davis took a visible deep breath as a signal for me to start.  I sang.  I had never sung into a microphone before.  It projected my voice louder than I was used to.  I could hear my self for the first time.  It was good for a kid.   I gave a solid performance.   I finished the last few words of my solo and already the crowd applauded.  The other kids joined in and continued sing as I stepped back to my place on the corner of the group.  The program was a success and I felt special when it was over.  The other kids told me good job but the best was a big hug from my mom.  Every kids loves a bug hug from mom. It was my first taste of show business.