Detention

I have had two detentions in my life. The second awarded as a sophomore in high school (note: the "Fifteen Minute Rule" really isn't a thing). 

The first, the most memorable, the most traumatic, and the most unnecessary came during the fall of fourth grade. 

I got a detention for singing. 

Those who know me well can stop laughing. Any. Moment. Now.

I am the first to admit that I am not a good singer. I'm not terrible, but I'm not good, either. 

It was toward the end of the day in Miss Weissman's class. She was pretty old-school, even down to the fact she would smoke cigs in the classroom while we were outside at recess after lunch. Took me awhile to catch on that on those rainy or inclement days that we had recess in the classroom after eating would prove for long afternoons. Teech' was irritable if she couldn't take a drag.

On this day,  a cold and rainy November Thursday, we were stuck inside after recess and Miss W. missed her date with the Marlboro Man. And that afternoon sucked.

We had times test after times test, silent reading after silent reading and NOBODY COULD TALK.  Ouch. 

I vividly remember her becoming a little more cordial as the clock ticked its way toward 3:30... At 3:25, she actually cracked a smile and we felt comfortable enough to engage in small talk with our tablemates. 

All afternoon I had "Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins stuck in my head. I didn't realize how ironic my song choice was until just now as I type this. Anyway, for the last few minutes of my school day, I started to hum then sing the famous tune from the movie Top Gun: "I went to the Danger Zone... Gonna take a ride in to the Danger Zone..." It must have been the "biddue, biddy, boo, bop" sounds I was uttering to mimic the synthesizer in the background that sent her over the edge. 

As all chairs were placed upside down on the desks to signal the end of the school day, I heard "Dana, have a seat..." 

WHAT? What was that supposed to mean? Have a seat? My Ma is waiting outside in the Caprice Classic station wagon! Did my sister have a radiation appointment that afternoon? Was I supposed to see the dentist today? Was I going to miss Scooby Doo? All of these thoughts ran throughout my head in the eternity that I had to sit there and shoot eye-daggers at Miss Weissman. 

Once I got to the car, Ma asked "What's wrong?" to which I burst into tears and told her I had a headache and I didn't "feel good"... 

And I didn't go to school the next day. 

And, come to think of it, I didn't say much the rest of that school year. 

I'm not sure how long my detention was, but I do remember that I never sang in front of anyone after that... well, until I was 27 and fist-pumping Bon Jovi after a few too many beers. 

Miss Weissman silenced me for a long, long time. Sad.

Only in the last few years have I been comfortable singing in front of anybody. I was practically forced to - to sing to my Spanish classes my silly made-up songs to help them remember whatever vocab we were learning. 

But they liked it, or politely pretended to at least, and it helped them learn... And giggle... Just. A. Little.

I sing to my babies all the time. "Who's Got Gassies, Who's Got Gassies," is a Hackett-family classic. The "Good Morning Song" is also pretty popular around these parts, too. I know I'm not good, but the smile that lands on their faces is priceless. 

Right now, Baby Jimmy's favorite song is "Homegrown" by the Zac Brown Band. It takes exactly 3 and a half times through it each day to travel to Antie's house. It's all he will listen to - to and from. 
He calls the song "Nothing, Don't..." and I must hear "Nothing, Don't...A'gin" fifteen times throughout each day. 

The other day, I wasn't singing along with him and "Nothing...Don't". This sweet little voice from behind me says, "Try, Mommy, Try..." So I did, I tried. I sang along with him and he was happy. 

And I was happy. 

Take that, Miss Weissman.