Part of my life that I love is volunteering in my kids’ schools. I’ve filled pretty much every role at one time or another. I’ve worked with the band boosters and the athletic boosters. I’ve recorded minutes for different organizations as secretaries — and, if you didn’t know: the secretary always knows what’s going on! I’ve wrangled volunteers for various special events. I’ve helped out in the classroom and in art class. I’ve monitored Field Days, and I’ve participated in healthy lifestyle bazaars. I’ve even turned down PTA president and treasurer multiple times (hey, I know my time limits!). But by far my favorite thing to do is to coordinate the annual talent show. And my favorite part of the talent show is writing the script, of course!
As much fun as it is, writing a script for an elementary talent show is sometimes an exercise in frustration. After you think of something cool for the student emcee to say, you have to remember that the first grader saying the line may have just learned to read. Or, you write a joke that is absolutely hysterical in your head, but the monotone delivery from the fifth grader totally blows the punchline. Even worse, you finish the script, tailored to each child’s reading skill, and at the last moment, little Susie or Johnny has a soccer tournament on the very day of the talent show … and, suddenly, you’ve lost a student emcee (because we all know that sports in Texas trump absolutely everything else. Except maybe church.). That, of course, means last-minute rewrites read by children who aren’t exactly experts on the concept of “winging it.”
What higher truth have I learned from elementary talent show scriptwriting? Why, you have to roll with the punches, of course, and embrace the unexpected. Which dovetails nicely with my previous post, don’t you think?
I wonder if somebody somewhere is trying to tell me something?