Winter recital rehearsal was a happy time for me. Just before break, there was the promise of presents, family gatherings, and playing in the snow. My sixth-grade class and I were practicing “The Little Drummer Boy.” I was joyously belting out the words, “I played my drum for him . . . .” Eventually I became aware of the teacher’s impending attack. She was scrutinizing the students one by one to “sniff out” the offending off-key singer. Detecting the source of the bad “smell” she announced, “Maybe you should just mouth the words, David.” I did so in stunned humiliation, my winter revelry vaporized.
David Margolin has published in Friday Flash Fiction, Little Old Lady Comedy, Memoir Magazine, and R U Joking? He lives, works, and writes in Portland, Oregon. davidmargolin.substack.com