Change this to 1986 and the midwest, and you’ve got my (almost) exact experience in talent shows. Except I twirled a baton to a 45 (look it up kids!) Stac(e)y Lattisaw’s “Dynamite.” (Look her up too, kids!)
My 6th grade class of fellow Catholic schoolkids were having a talent show.
In order to be a part of a talent show, one would have to have some sort of talent to offer.
Well, just as 42-year-old me lacks any discernible talent, such was the same plight for 11-year-old me.
I couldn’t sing, dance, act, and my juggling wasn’t quite ready for an audience yet. My sense of humor was still in the beginning stages of development, so a stand-up comedy routine was a no-go.
I could have written a poem to read, but imagine the booing that I would have gotten from a bunch of judgmental preteens.
They were all dicks.
I had a friend back then, her name was Sue. We were really close that year, best friends, and all of that. She wanted to do something together for the talent show, despite my fearful protests.
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