The Beach Boys

I am not sure when it happened, but I was introduced to the music of Brian Wilson and The Beach Boys at an early age. (Bet you thought I was really referring to the actual beach and real boys in my last post. Come on! I am only in "almost" second grade!)

From the first moment I heard their sound, I was hooked. The melodies, harmonies, words...it was all good. I danced to their music, learned The Twist, The Freddy, The Jerk, The Monkey, and The Swim. I liked spontaneous dancing. Maria and Roxi, however...

"Kara, you are going to stand on the chair," Maria orders me. "You're going to wait for Jack to turn around and see you."

"Jack, you're going to stand at the fireplace," Roxi tells him, "and you'll use this for your guitar." She pulls the shovel from the fireplace tools. "We need sunglasses!" she exclaims and runs upstairs for the prop.

As I stand on the chair, Maria continues to give orders.

"When the music starts, Jack you turn around and play your guitar for a little bit. Then, when you see Kara standing on the chair, throw your guitar down and come over to her and lift her to the ground."

Roxi comes running in with the sunglasses. "Here, put these on."

"Roxi and I are going to stand on the couch, with our backs to y'all, and one foot pointed in the air." She demonstrates this, bending her leg at the knee and pointing her toe. "When the song gets to 'Some honeys will be comin' along', Roxi and I will turn around and jump off the couch. Then we'll all start doing The Twist."

Poor Jack. Georgie and Phillip were not with us on this day. He was relegated to these sorts of things as was I. I would've preferred to be playing with Lela and Wendy -- eating fake spaghetti was way better than doing a routine -- but we almost always made Maria and Roxi play outside, so...I guess it was only fair.

The music starts and Jack and I both do what we are supposed to, but Maria and Roxi just stand on the couch, with their toes in the air. Jack stops the record.

"Hey, y'all were supposed to jump off the couch," he reminds them.

"Right," Maria confirms. "Let's do it again."

So, we do it again. And the same thing happens. So, we try again. And again. And again.

Boy, Jack and I really got our part down that day. Maria and Roxi never turned around.

It Continues

First grade is coming to an end, but school is not over. Oh, no. There is a second grade, and there is no reason to be excited about being promoted. I have no illusions this grade will afford me anything to look forward to.

There will be more work, more monotonous, mind-numbing work. I will have to walk in a line. I will have to be quiet. I will have to listen to the relentless droning of an adult who squeals, "Oh, look everyone! Suzy Q has discovered the letter A!"

We must all ooo and ahhh over Suzy. Every accomplishment will be celebrated no matter how irrelevant it is. The letter A? Really?

I just knocked a boy out of Crazy Dodgeball, and she wants to celebrate the letter A. What is the world coming to? I learned letters from Sesame Street. Now, let's get into the stuff that matters...stomping the boys out.

But, they aren't interested in female dominance. They think stickers are fabulous. "Here! Scratch-N-Sniff!" they cry with enough enthusiasm to turn Amelia Earhart's hair white...wherever she is. God bless her.

So, I continue on...to second grade. My infamous rebellion against turning in homework did not inspire anyone to expel me.

Thankfully, there is summer first. With the beach...and the boys.

Big, Fat Zero

"May I speak with Mrs. Atterbury?"

"This is she."

"Mrs. Atterbury, this is Ms. Adams."

"Oh hello, Ms. Adams!" my mother exclaims, but inside her head she is saying, "Oh, hell, what did she do now?"

There is a slight pause on the end of the line as Ms. Adams seems to be gathering her thoughts. "Kara hasn't turned in a single paper for this grading period."

My mother's jaw drops. "Nothing?"

"No. And if we can't find the work, I don't know what we'll do. Right now she has a zero in my class."

My mother's head is spinning as she has no idea what to say or how to proceed. "Can I...can I look for them?"

"Absolutely! Do you think they are in her room?"

Mother doubts it as she works hard at keeping my room spic and span, but she promises to look. After hanging up with my teacher, she goes on a hunt and comes up empty. Beside herself, she puts Maria, Wendy, and Bill in the car and drives up to the school.

Imagine my surprise when my teacher doesn't allow me to line up for the bus. Am I being held hostage? Am I going to be locked up in the classroom? What happens in the school after the kids leave? Is this when the teachers eat the children? Am I going to be eaten because I have red hair, because I play kickball and don't wear hair bows?

Heart pounding, chest heaving I am contemplating running for my life as I am pretty sure I am faster than my teacher, when my mother and my sisters and brother walk through the door. "Praise God!" I declare, relieved my mother has come to save me.

She and my teacher begin talking and I listen intently to make sure negotiations aren't taking place. Luckily, all they want to do is go through my tote tray.

I pull it out and set it on my desk with a loud bang because, inside, is every paper for the grading period. My mother and teacher are going through the sheets, their mouths hanging open. I am asked if I know where to turn my papers in and of course I do. I am not an idiot.

Why didn't I turn them in then, they ask.

I shrug. I don't know. Just didn't.

My teacher takes my work, my mother takes my hand and we all walk out of the room. I am triumphant because I have some how beaten my teacher and I am not going to be held against my will. But...this triumph is short-lived.

As we head toward the parking lot my mother says to me, "You're grounded."

Oh, the torture! I might have been better off being eaten!

Our Music

"My song first, Maria. Then we'll listen to yours."

Maria glares at me, her hands on her hips. "We listen to yours all the time," she declares.

I roll my eyes at her and reach for the sleeve that holds my favorite 45.

"No!" Maria shouts. "It's my turn."

I stop and think. Now that I have discovered I am good at taking care of people, I realize I am not taking good care of my sister. I can share, can't I? I'll get to listen to my favorite song later. After all, isn't it better to be kind?

"Okay," I tell Maria. "We'll listen to yours first."

With a triumphant grin, Maria slips her favorite 45 onto our plastic record player and the music of Lipps, Inc. blasts through our cotton candy pink room. We dance to Funkytown, Maria, Wendy, and I. We giggle when the "Darth Vader" voice sings, "Won't you take me to". We lip sync, we spin, we sing, we laugh.

Ah, music...

Maria's song ends and now it is my turn. Maria and Wendy don't stay because they don't care for my song, but that is alright with me.

Reverently, I place the 45 on the record player and close my eyes in anticipation. The music hits me, wafts around me and fills me with gladness. I sing along without dancing. Singing is more important.

I don't really know what the words mean. The melody is all that matters and I sing every note perfectly.

"Lookin' For Love"...

What a song!

Searching For Me

Let's see...

I can't do Math. 6 + 7 is too much for me. I can't sit still in my seat. I can't keep my hair neat.

I can read and I read very well...but, I can't answer questions about what I read.

I can throw and kick a ball with vigor and accuracy, but I can't usually beat the boys even though I try really hard.

I can spell and I never even have to study, but I can't seem to win the spelling contests in class.

I have enough energy to play from sun-up to sun-down, but not always someone to play with.

I can sing, but there isn't an appropriate venue for singing since I am only 6.

Hmmm...

I can get Bill out of bed in the morning. I can make him smile at me. I can change his diaper and I can feed him...

And there is no "but" in that sentence.

My Absolute Fav-o-rite Place!

An acre and a half.

A cement driveway large enough to hold 6 or 7 trucks.

The cement wraps around a garage that doubles as a small engine repair shop.

Enough smooth surface for bikes, scooters, skateboards, and big wheels.

Enough yard for baseball games, dune buggies, go carts, tractors, and motor bikes.

This place, this Heaven, is my grandpa and grandma's house. My grandpa created a Mecca for his grandchildren. There was a vehicle for everyone and we were always drivin', or ridin', or scootin', or hittin'.

Inside there were people playing cards, or scrabble, while silver pots bubbled with potatoes and the oven produced a roast so fine, it melted in your mouth.

"Hey, Kara!" my dad calls as I careen around the corner of the garage on a big wheel. "Get in," he orders.

He is driving the go cart. I hop up from my big wheel and he cries, "Hurry every chance you get! Your mama will be stickin' her head out the door any second!"

Mom didn't care much for the go carts and worked really hard at keeping us off of them. She lost the battle frequently.

I hop onto the cushioned seat next to my dad and he takes off. The wind is whipping through my hair as we shoot across the driveway, over the grass in the front yard and swerve around the house into the big yard out back. "Yeehaw!" I scream just like the Dukes, my grin splitting my face.

The frigid air (it is December) burns my cheeks, but I don't care. My dad is driving like he's Bo Duke and I am screaming at him to go faster. Luke and Han are racing past us on the motor bike and dune buggy, swapping insults with my dad as they pass us up.

We race around the garage, coming back toward the big driveway and as my dad takes the small jump up onto the driveway, I go rolling out of the go cart. I roll and roll and roll and when I stop, I am surprised as all get out that I am not hurt at all.

"Hey, girl, are you alright?" my dad asks.

I hop to my feet and say, "I'm ok! My puffy coat saved me!"

"Well, thank God for the coat," he says. "Now get back in here and we'll do one more lap."

I hop in and off we go!

Goodness, I adore this place.

Efficient Evening Activities

That time between homework (God save me) and bedtime was my favorite time of day. Mom would make supper, while Bill played with his cars as he sat in his high chair, and Dad would play with us girls.

Hide-and-Seek. And this is how it went.

Dad was always "It", which blew my mind because who would choose to be "It" every time? However, I didn't question him aloud because I wasn't going to be the one who ruined a good thing.

Dad would start counting and we would run and hide, giggling as we ran, pushing long hair out of our faces as we raced to the best hiding spots in the house. He always counted slowly, giving us plenty of time to hide. I made my decision quickly, but Wendy would take forever, giggling as she would hide behind the couch and then change her mind and hide between the piano and the fireplace...in plain view. Then she'd giggle again and run off to a new spot.

I assumed he counted slowly to increase the suspense of the finding. I am not so sure now.

When Wendy finally settled on a place, he would shout, "Ready or not, here I come!"

We'd squeal and giggle with excitement and then he'd say, EVERY TIME, "Are you girls ready?"

And we'd all shout, "Ready!"

EVERY TIME.

And wouldn't you know it, he would find us in less than 10 seconds. At six and a half I thought he was the best detective in the world. At thirty six I am feeling a little stupid.

My dad certainly knew how to get things to work in his favor.