Improvisation

When I was in grade school, a salesman visited the class offering flageolets. Cheap plastic and aluminum, essentially a tin whistle. He played it extremely well, and I figured I could play it too. My father always wanted us to be able to play an instrument†, and it seemed to my childhood mind to be cheap. Maybe it was about $5? Not excessive, and since my mother agreed, it had to be reasonable.

I did enjoy it, although didn't get much past MaryHadALittleLamb, and some random noodling. But when school had a talent show, I wanted to demonstrate my competence and worth. Practiced my one song, White Coral Bells, until I was sure I had it. And then had to stand on stage during the rehearsal, looking out on the empty lunchroom, and could not do it. I quit hard, and never regretted it. Big old NOPE. The realization that I wasn't doing it well hit me with the certain sting of Truth.

Why I thought I could act seems utterly beyond me. I think the school play was before this, where I was a tulip with a single line "I never knew Nutsy was bashful!"* And I danced on stage without too much nervousness, ballet in bunches. But just me and an instrument, not so much. Ultimately that initial terror was right. I do not enjoy being the focus, even in potentia. Dancing with is fine. Dancing for... no.

Like singing, with is wonderful, for is not. Shape note singing suits, except for the religiosity.

Dylan and our friend Chris did the WhiteGuySway, petting the giant imaginary dog moves.

Ballet at Patton Park Rec Center, Lots of dance in a theater program, taught dance at Arthur Murray's (except that the actual job was selling class packages and I failed at that), belly dance for several years. I move to music, but I don't get choreography. I want to do an improv class, just to see if it's the reciting lines of acting that I can't do.




†He never seemed to notice that I was pretty good at singing and dancing.
*Don't go there.