Then, this afternoon, we celebrated my daughter's sixteenth birthday with our families. We had a party in the afternoon and evening. We talked, sang, ate cake and ice cream, and had filet mignon (I'm not kidding). Oh, and my daughter got some presents.
Two years ago on this date, my son had another Christmas program . . .
December 11, 2014: Clown in a Ring, Son's Christmas Program, Good Day
But the crowd loved it. Avery heard nothing but the applause. He liked being a clown in a ring, with everybody watching, in front of a grandstand. When he discovered there was still a little water left in the bottom of the pail, he raised the pail high in the air and dumped the water on himself and made faces. The children in the grandstand screamed with appreciation.
Avery, as I've said before, is a typical little boy. He loves getting dirty, playing with frogs, collecting bugs. And he loves being the center of attention. Any opportunity that arises, Avery will try to grab the spotlight, even at Wilbur's award ceremony.
My son isn't quite as bad as Avery. My son gets shy in front of large crowds. I don't know where he gets it from. I am not a shy person. Neither is my wife. In fact, we met in the theater. I was directing a production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and my wife auditioned. We love being onstage. I love giving poetry readings, being in the front of a classroom. These are a few of my favorite things, to quote The Sound of Music.
Today was my son's Christmas program at school. We spent the morning in a crowded gymnasium, packed into seats that were designed for residents of Munchkinland. The music was too soft. The kids sang off-key. Some kids yawned in the middle of songs (my son included). Some kids started crying when they saw all the people in the audience. And that many people in close quarters tend to exude a communal aroma that can be a little nauseating.
It was a great morning.
I didn't have to go to work. I was able to clean my house, send some e-mails, and listen to Christmas music. A good day. Tonight, I may actually be able to relax a little bit. No grading. No sweeping or vacuuming. No pressing writing projects. Maybe I'll read something for pleasure. Take a nap. Write a poem.
Or maybe Saint Marty will do...absolutely...nothing.
I have another poem for you tonight.
The Happiest Person in North America
by: Martin Achatz
According to a Gallup poll,
The
happiest person in America
Is
tall, not Jimmy Stewart tall,
But
not Tom Cruise short. He
(Of
course a man, women need
Not
apply) is Asian-American,
To
insure aptitude for math,
Science,
I suppose. He must
Be
an observant Jew, Christians
Tending
to be too Republican,
Therefore
humorless, Muslims
Raising
eyebrow threat levels
On
airplanes too much to allow
For
vacations in Europe, Fiji,
Greece. No, a Jew, enlightened
Enough
to appreciate the writing
Of
E. L. Doctorow, but strict
Enough
to take Yom Kippur off work.
He
should be 65 years of age
At
least, ready to collect
Social
Security for a few years
Before
the money runs out.
Married
with children.
His
wife should be up
For
kosher late night dinners,
Skinny-dips,
Tony Bennett songs.
His
children, graduates of Brown,
UCLA,
make trips home for
Radish
and salt at Passover.
He
lives in Hawaii, snorkels
Coral
reefs in Huaname Bay,
Stops
at roadside fruit stands
To
buy fresh-cut pineapple.
He
has his own business, something
Non-stressful
like surf blogger,
Hot
air balloon captain, pastry chef,
Earns
more than $120,000 a year,
Not
enough to attract the attention
Of
relatives, but enough to pay
For
botox, liposuction, Kindles.
This
man is happiest. Satisfied.
Wakes
at dawn to sit lotus,
Watch
the Pacific surf, kiss
His
wife of forty years before
She
goes for her morning jog.
Statistic
perfection, as unattainable
As
Liz Taylor’s violet eyes,
As
peace between Israel, Palestine,
As
John Lennon’s no Heaven, no Hell,
One
Gallup world, living as one.
PLEASE VOTE FOR ME (MARTIN ACHATZ) FOR POET LAUREATE OF THE U. P. AT THE LINK BELOW:
U. P. Poet Laureate (voting ends December 31)
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