Read Online She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother by Bryan Batt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bryan Batt
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first shocked by the display and by the sight of her sister dripping in Sanka, but instantly she joined the chorus of laughter. Soon Moozie, too, joined in.
The only person not laughing was Mom. Holding back her own giggles, she noticed the tears forming in her little deer’s eyes. She tried to explain that no one was laughing at me, but with me, and that my wonderful pratfall was just as good as Dick Van Dyke and those comedians I loved to watch on TV.
“Baby dear, you are very talented and are a natural comic, that’s why everyone is laughing.” Then, to Jay and Dad, “Okay, you two, cut it out, I bet neither of you two galoots can do that or have any better suggestions.” Jay snorted, “I don’t know, Mom, but the best part was the upside-down landing. Dad, the game!”
With that they bolted to the den, shut the door, and were glued to the tube for the duration.
Norma and Moozie joined Mom in reassuring me as we got back to the task at hand. They agreed that future rehearsals were closed to anyone but us, the artists. The music started, the flapping and ball-changing followed, and when I arrived at the dance break, the very place where the ill-fated cartwheel was to be, I stopped and, without knowing what else to do, stood on my head. In an overwhelming response, my artistic directors exclaimed, “That’s it!” “Now we’re cooking!” “Hot diggedy!”
Mom flew to my side and, like a swan, enfolded me in her wings. “See my little red-nosed reindeer, see what you can do? Now let’s perfect it.”
For the next hour, my terpsichorean muses created extensive leg choreography while I was performing the headstand. Legs together, right leg extends, left leg extends, both together, and then clap the feet to the beat. This new addition was a surefire show stopper, and every night for the next two weeks after my homework was done, we drilled the routine, sometimes with Moozie and Aunt Norma, but primarily it was just Mom and me, fine-tuning the dance.
The school year for a mother must be quite taxing, playing chauffer, disciplinarian, chief cook and bottle washer, and spiritual guide, but now mine was also obsessed with figuring out how the light-up nose would (a) work and (b) remain on my face. Mom’s brother, Uncle Dick, was talented with a hammer. He could hang paintings and artwork toperfection, and anything electrical as well as small carpentry tasks were his specialty, but my light-up nose baffled him. So never able to accept defeat until every possible avenue was explored, Gayle contacted the head electrician at Pontchartrain Beach. “The Beach” was my father’s family business, and, obviously, there were a few perks. If Mr. Gephardt could make the multicolored lights chase in myriad formations all over every thrill ride of the park, even with missing fingers, he could create an illuminated red nose for a third-grader.
Some of his early attempts with an extension cord were beyond disastrous, but finally, just a few days before the performance, he rigged a battery pack that worked. My mother thought that if someone could create an entire light-up costume for the stripper character of Electra in
Gypsy
, a Rudolph nose should be a cinch. And he did it! Inside the very shiny red clown nose was nestled a small Christmas tree light. The wires were fitted around the front of my face, attached to tight-fitting, crescent-shaped behind-the-ear metal eyeglass frames. The dark wires were then disguised and woven through my antler headdress, designed by Miss Inez, then to a battery pack for which the on-off switch was in my pocket.
Another pressing issue was how the antlers could be constructed so as not to be crushed or broken during the big trick. Trial and error proved the best system for determining what fabrics and supports to use. The final result was black felt-covered wire similar to the type used for a Slinky, so that the antlers could bend but return to their original shape. Every last detail was
The only person not laughing was Mom. Holding back her own giggles, she noticed the tears forming in her little deer’s eyes. She tried to explain that no one was laughing at me, but with me, and that my wonderful pratfall was just as good as Dick Van Dyke and those comedians I loved to watch on TV.
“Baby dear, you are very talented and are a natural comic, that’s why everyone is laughing.” Then, to Jay and Dad, “Okay, you two, cut it out, I bet neither of you two galoots can do that or have any better suggestions.” Jay snorted, “I don’t know, Mom, but the best part was the upside-down landing. Dad, the game!”
With that they bolted to the den, shut the door, and were glued to the tube for the duration.
Norma and Moozie joined Mom in reassuring me as we got back to the task at hand. They agreed that future rehearsals were closed to anyone but us, the artists. The music started, the flapping and ball-changing followed, and when I arrived at the dance break, the very place where the ill-fated cartwheel was to be, I stopped and, without knowing what else to do, stood on my head. In an overwhelming response, my artistic directors exclaimed, “That’s it!” “Now we’re cooking!” “Hot diggedy!”
Mom flew to my side and, like a swan, enfolded me in her wings. “See my little red-nosed reindeer, see what you can do? Now let’s perfect it.”
For the next hour, my terpsichorean muses created extensive leg choreography while I was performing the headstand. Legs together, right leg extends, left leg extends, both together, and then clap the feet to the beat. This new addition was a surefire show stopper, and every night for the next two weeks after my homework was done, we drilled the routine, sometimes with Moozie and Aunt Norma, but primarily it was just Mom and me, fine-tuning the dance.
The school year for a mother must be quite taxing, playing chauffer, disciplinarian, chief cook and bottle washer, and spiritual guide, but now mine was also obsessed with figuring out how the light-up nose would (a) work and (b) remain on my face. Mom’s brother, Uncle Dick, was talented with a hammer. He could hang paintings and artwork toperfection, and anything electrical as well as small carpentry tasks were his specialty, but my light-up nose baffled him. So never able to accept defeat until every possible avenue was explored, Gayle contacted the head electrician at Pontchartrain Beach. “The Beach” was my father’s family business, and, obviously, there were a few perks. If Mr. Gephardt could make the multicolored lights chase in myriad formations all over every thrill ride of the park, even with missing fingers, he could create an illuminated red nose for a third-grader.
Some of his early attempts with an extension cord were beyond disastrous, but finally, just a few days before the performance, he rigged a battery pack that worked. My mother thought that if someone could create an entire light-up costume for the stripper character of Electra in
Gypsy
, a Rudolph nose should be a cinch. And he did it! Inside the very shiny red clown nose was nestled a small Christmas tree light. The wires were fitted around the front of my face, attached to tight-fitting, crescent-shaped behind-the-ear metal eyeglass frames. The dark wires were then disguised and woven through my antler headdress, designed by Miss Inez, then to a battery pack for which the on-off switch was in my pocket.
Another pressing issue was how the antlers could be constructed so as not to be crushed or broken during the big trick. Trial and error proved the best system for determining what fabrics and supports to use. The final result was black felt-covered wire similar to the type used for a Slinky, so that the antlers could bend but return to their original shape. Every last detail was