Jobs I never, under any circumstances, want:
A. Shark trainer
B. Bomb diffuser
C. Director of a pre-school Christmas program
That's actually in reverse order.
OK, I don't know if they actually have shark trainers, or what they train them to do, since it seems like sharks come with a pretty specific but one-dimensional skill set. And the good thing about being a bomb diffuser is you get instant feedback. No waiting around for the yearly eval! Sort of a "pass/fail" career there.
Being director of a Christmas program combines all the challenges of theater with the worst aspects of the other two jobs. You're dealing with creatures that can turn on you at any time and lots of things explode.
I thought of all this while waiting for the start of the Wee Little Lambie Pies Pre-School Christmas program the other day. It was, of course, not to be confused with the Christmas programs offered by Bright Star Meadowlarks Pre-School or the Busy Bunny's Forest Friends Pre-School, which I had attended in earlier phases of my life. At least I think not. You tend to block things out over time.
I will say, from what I can recall, certain holiday traditions hold true. For one thing, pre-school Christmas programs go in reverse order of the initial aerial assault of Baghdad: lots of "awwhhh" followed by shock.
If you haven't been an administrator or a supplier of talent for one of these, imagine this scenario. Hours are spent teaching your "cast" to sort of dance to and very energetically sing a song extolling the virtues of being an elf, reindeer, snowman or the angel on top of the Christmas tree.
Your star seems to take to the song. He or she even elects to practice it. Endlessly. From the back seat of the car at the top of his or her lungs. In the canned goods aisle of the store. At church during the invocation. At every conceivable inappropriate moment.
Time comes for the performance and your budding Broadway baby hits the stage, sees the lights and people and ... freezes like the statute of David. Except with more clothes and fake pointed ears.
It could be worse. The opening act, which consists of the earliest age able to remain mostly vertical long enough to make it out of the wings, is typically led out by a couple of teachers who look like their job is try to keep 30 frogs in a wheelbarrow.
For the briefest of moments, things seem like they're going to fall into place. And then, someone, for no apparent reason, starts to cry. It's probably one of the students, but eventually, it could be a teacher. Lot of pressure out there on the Great White Way.
At this point, order gives way and chaos reigns. At least one more faux toymaker/Dasher/Dancer/Prancer/candy cane will start to cry for no apparent reason (apparently it's a union deal: no one cries alone), and the rest of the cast starts to wander around, tripping over their fake pointed-toed shoes and falling off the risers.
You would be recoiling in horror from this scene, if, in fact you could see it. Thankfully, you're spared by the legion of parents who are blocking your view while they record all this with their cell phones. At one point, I thought this was so they could proudly show off their children's performances. Now I know those tapes are the stuff of incredibly embarrassing videos shown when the kids graduate high school.
Now, despite what preceding tone might suggest, this is all kind of ... fun , actually. I mean, you'll have to suspend your belief in the majesty of music (or the need for the singing to actually coincide with the melody). And, frankly, most of it's not going to make a lot of thematic sense. But what does happen is prone to be entertaining, in an "Irving Berlin is spinning in his grave like rotisserie chicken" way.
It's sort of like raising kids. Not a lot of this is going to turn out the way you figured it would. And if you go into it with many preconceived notions, you're bound to be disappointed. But if you just let it happen, it can be one of the special memories of your life. Or, at worst, you get an interesting story about the time your oldest face-planted while dancing to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" in a giant snowman suit.
Sounds like a pretty good gig, after all.
Commentary on 12/16/2016