You would think that since I’m writing these posts, I would spare myself the embarrassment of relaying hokey events from my past. Well, you would be wrong. Out of respect for the historical record, I’m including everything, including the fact that I was the flower girl at Bradley’s 1966 Homecoming. You didn’t know Homecoming necessitated five-year-old flower girls? Well, read on.
The ceremony at which the Homecoming Queen was to be coronated was held in the Field House. This was such a big event that it required a rehearsal. At the rehearsal, the grownups explained to me that each member of the homecoming court would be announced and would step on the stage. My name would be announced last, and I would make my entrance carrying an armful of flowers. While we were being announced, the Bradley Brave would be doing a Native American dance on the stage in full war dress. (Very strange writing about those non-PC and in many ways offensive times in PC language). At the end of the dance, he would throw the headdress off his head.
At this, I would run to the young co-ed they pointed me to, hand her the flowers—thus designating her queen—pick up the headdress and run off the stage. I am aghast at the responsibility they gave a five-year-old. What if I handed the flowers to the wrong girl?
Anyway, we practiced this routine a couple of times. It seemed easy enough to me.
I got a special Indian princess/flower girl costume for the occasion, which was later recycled as a Halloween costume.
Above is a picture of my sister Theresa and I wearing part of the costume along with my brother Jim. I should add the disclaimer that my siblings did not give me permission to post any of the pictures I've used in this blog. They are helpless bystanders.
On the big night, my dad stayed by my side the whole time. When they announced my name, I didn’t want to go on the stage. I wasn’t really suffering stage fright. But the Bradley Brave was thumping around very energetically and I was afraid he would step on my bare feet. I need to remember this line of reasoning when I can’t understand why my four-year-old is refusing to do something.
My dad, whose priorities were always straight, did not insist I go on stage. He didn’t even act like my refusal was a big deal. After a few moments, I must have figured out my tootsies would not be pounced on, and I stepped up on the stage. The rest of the routine went swell. The right gal got the flowers, though I can't remember which one. My main motivation was to get my hands on that headdress. It was probably bigger than I was and with all the colorful feathers, it was beyond cool. Sadly, the Bradley Brave retrieved it almost immediately.
Thus began and ended my career as a homecoming court member.
The ceremony at which the Homecoming Queen was to be coronated was held in the Field House. This was such a big event that it required a rehearsal. At the rehearsal, the grownups explained to me that each member of the homecoming court would be announced and would step on the stage. My name would be announced last, and I would make my entrance carrying an armful of flowers. While we were being announced, the Bradley Brave would be doing a Native American dance on the stage in full war dress. (Very strange writing about those non-PC and in many ways offensive times in PC language). At the end of the dance, he would throw the headdress off his head.
At this, I would run to the young co-ed they pointed me to, hand her the flowers—thus designating her queen—pick up the headdress and run off the stage. I am aghast at the responsibility they gave a five-year-old. What if I handed the flowers to the wrong girl?
Anyway, we practiced this routine a couple of times. It seemed easy enough to me.
I got a special Indian princess/flower girl costume for the occasion, which was later recycled as a Halloween costume.
Above is a picture of my sister Theresa and I wearing part of the costume along with my brother Jim. I should add the disclaimer that my siblings did not give me permission to post any of the pictures I've used in this blog. They are helpless bystanders.
On the big night, my dad stayed by my side the whole time. When they announced my name, I didn’t want to go on the stage. I wasn’t really suffering stage fright. But the Bradley Brave was thumping around very energetically and I was afraid he would step on my bare feet. I need to remember this line of reasoning when I can’t understand why my four-year-old is refusing to do something.
My dad, whose priorities were always straight, did not insist I go on stage. He didn’t even act like my refusal was a big deal. After a few moments, I must have figured out my tootsies would not be pounced on, and I stepped up on the stage. The rest of the routine went swell. The right gal got the flowers, though I can't remember which one. My main motivation was to get my hands on that headdress. It was probably bigger than I was and with all the colorful feathers, it was beyond cool. Sadly, the Bradley Brave retrieved it almost immediately.
Thus began and ended my career as a homecoming court member.
No comments:
Post a Comment