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Friday, March 21, 2003 Page: 3A
A very strange day Wednesday was.
I’ve never waited for a war before. It’s very odd.
I can’t even begin to fathom the strain on those in uniform, wondering when
and where they might be sent to fight, face death, overcome fear.
At the newspaper, we spent the morning and afternoon trying to figure out
plans for covering war. We even went so far as to experiment with possible
headlines. I held out hope we wouldn’t have to use any of them.
By about 6:30 p.m., with the timing of the attack still unclear, I had the
chance to get out of the newsroom and attend the Meyers High School Talent
Show to try to see my daughters in one of the acts. The show’s an annual event
that allows high school kids to perform, some very seriously, some less so.
Kids do skits, perform magic, dance, sing or play music for a handful of
judges while hundreds of other kids whoop it up in the crowd. I knew it
wouldn’t be totally relaxing because I’m too old to be sitting for too long
amid a crowd of teenagers. And, watching your own kids always tests the
nerves.
Still, checking my beeper and easing into my seat, I was hoping to put Iraq
out of my mind.
Carefree joy comes to an end
A lot of teenagers can fit into a small space, and they don’t seem to mind,
especially when opposite sexes mingle.
In a blob, they thronged – in front of my wife and me, around us, beside
us. They giggled and pointed and jostled each other.
But most quieted for the performers. And no one jeered nastily. All the
acts got applause.
The only real booing came when the crowd learned that a popular, attractive
female teacher had brought a date along, to help judge. Teenage boys in the
crowd didn’t like that.
On stage, slinky girl singers and dancers started out timid but, encouraged
by the crowd, turned, er, torrid. A white boy doing rap got a row of black
kids swaying and clapping. (They had coached him in practices.) And a slight
girl with an acoustic guitar and a mike, mesmerized the easily distracted
crowd.
By intermission, I stopped looking at my beeper.
By show’s end, I found myself standing, swaying and clapping with nearly
everyone else for giant Glenn Jones and his two dance partners.
Glenn (blond, white and big enough to eclipse both of the brave black girls
on stage with him) moved on to the stage almost clumsily. But, breaking racial
and size stereotypes in one smooth shimmy, he began strutting about, as the
girls fought for his attention, each singing “The Boy is Mine.”
When Glenn grabbed the mike and began belting out `My Girl’ the crowd
roared; dozens of kids rushed the stage to sway with the trio, reaching up for
handshakes.
People left the school smiling – me too.
Reality returned when I saw the four police cars with lights along Carey
Avenue. Someone had started fighting. At least one girl was hurt.
On the way back to work, I listened for news of the war. Out of paranoia, I
was back in the newsroom by 9:20 p.m.
The bombing started about 9:30.
Call Iseman at 829-7176 or e-mail davei@leader.net.