The big night had finally arrived. I was sitting in a little nook just off the stage in a big room, praying and hoping the earth would open and swallow me whole, never to surface again. It was school Christmas Concert that night and all the students in our little school in Burgeo, on the south coast of Newfoundland had been preparing and rehearsing for weeks for this night. In a tiny isolated community in the 1950s’ this held the prestige of a Broadway musical, and often performers were just as talented as those professional actors and actresses.
My problem was I was painfully afraid of speaking in front of a crowd. I could hold skits, perform songs and poems and dance it up for my friends and family, but I hated command performances and having to be up on a stage in front of a crowd. My anxiety level would be so high I would be sick. And I felt sick sitting in that little nook that night. I will never forget the feeling. I could hear chairs scraping the floor, hear the voices of our parents all talking at once, the piano player doing her scales, and I was going over my recitation, as they called it, in my head. There was no escape, as we were one of the first groups to go on. I was eight years old, and dressed in a plaid jumper, and a pretty blouse, with navy knee socks, and mother had placed a lovely barrette in my thick dark hair. But the sweat ran down my back and I felt trapped. Our teacher was rushing about with her face flushed and putting the finishing touches on everything. Finally, the music to the ‘Ode to Newfoundland’, and the concert was off to a start. I was relieved in a way, to get it over with after three weeks of misery, and to get on with my life would be such a relief.
Knowing my lines was not a problem, there were only four, and I could remember fifty if I had to, I just had a phobia of being on a stage. We were soon due to go on, when I felt the barrette slipping out of my hair, my shoes were beautiful patent leather, and would be fine if I had one less toe, and I wanted to go to the bathroom, fast! But all of a sudden I was ushered onto the stage in a moment of sheer terror it seemed, and as I stood ready to say my lines I felt my left knee sock slowly slipping down my leg. Was there no end to this punishment?? I glanced at the teacher, she was urging me to speak, but my usual overused voice was gone, I tried again, and this time the recitation came out. It went like this "Here I stand upon the stage, A tiny little figure, If the boys don’t like me now, they will when I grow bigger!"
Bow, back up, bow again, and get the heck out of there. Applause was heard but not by me. I felt sick, wanted the bathroom, my hair was in my eyes, my sock slipped to my ankle, my feet hurt and I was sweating. Terror and panic still stayed even after it was over. And I felt sick for days after. Gradually the feeling left but I never forgot it. Not ever, not to this day.
First of all, nobody in their right mind would have a child say those lines today, and secondly I could have recited the Ancient Mariner if they wanted me to, but I had the humiliation of those stupid four lines. And it stayed with me always. In nurses training I would use any excuse to perform, had fun doing so, had no problem with stages or crowds, I couldn’t understand it, and I couldn’t forget those four little lines. I stood on the nurse’s desk at work one day holding a bouquet of dead flowers and recited the lines, the hilarious laughter of my co-workers brought the supervisor running in our direction. She took one look at me, silence fell over everyone, but I think she had just about had enough of me. All she said was "Jarvis, don’t forget to wipe the desk when you’re through making a fool of yourself!" And she left. Then we laughed even harder, and we knew she was laughing too.
I did the recitation standing on the fireplace hearth for my kids, dressed as an eight-year-old with one sock down over my shoe, I did it for my friends at parties, and I still do it from time to time just for fun! Well, why, if you hated it so much, do you still do it you ask? I think it is because I just like the feeling of doing it without being commanded to do it and because in this day and age the lines are so dreadfully silly. And even sillier coming from a grandmother dressed as a child with a bouquet of dead dandelions. That’s why!
Yessirree, I am nominating myself for an Emmy for that Burgeo performance, no, on second thought, I think I will go for the lifetime achievement award, because I have been doing it for a lifetime. I was eight years old, I am now fifty-eight years old and I still can’t get it out of my head.
Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe,RN.Rtd.
“You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was.” Irish Proverb
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