Friday, September 26, 2008
In elementary school music classes, the material taught her students by Mrs. Marsha Usher fell broadly into two categories: the art of reading, listening to, interpreting, and performing music; and the art of listening to and interpreting stories and anecdotes Mrs. Usher related when stimulated by something or other, or when she felt she needed to fill twenty minutes with something other than a twenty-seven-person chorus making twenty-seven distinctly off-key renditions of "Let It Snow".
Specifically called to mind this evening, as I sat at home reading excerpts written by a play critic: Mrs. Usher once related the tale of her hamburger traumatization. She grew up on a farm, or at least in a house with some extended property, and could on that account raise a calf. 'Twould seem she went away one summer for a week or two- or perhaps a month or two- and returned home to be told her pet calf had run away. The evening of her return, Mrs. Usher's father (who presumably at that time never addressed his daughter as "Mrs. Usher") barbecued burgers, an event in itself not likely considered extraordinary to little Marsha not-yet-Usher. But this evening dinner held a curiosity: her brother, perhaps called "Bobby" or "Greg", kept giggling at her as he scarfed down his meal. When realization dawned on the victim of this cruel prank, she burst into tears, and has not eaten a burger since.
I love cheeseburgers.
Labels: anecdote, brother, burgers, calf, elementary school, farm, father, hamburger, Let It Snow, music, pet, prank, teacher, trauma
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:50 PM]