They wore sparkles.

Children take most everything literally.

Even with my above-average intelligence¹, I was no exception.

In third grade, after becoming acquainted with the Reader's Digest standards songbook, I became captivated by song.

I sang the old favorites -- Stardust, Moonglow, Rum and Coca-Cola.

I also sang loudly, poorly and painfully high.

Still, I wasn't a realist and despite my shortcomings, my desire to become a singer intensified with each and every viewing of that showcase of talent, Star Search.

Sure, you may scoff at those little Britneys, LeAnns, Christinas -- the kids who belt out painfully bad (but loud) songs through their lock-jaw smiles.

To me, Ed McMahon's jewel had all the glamour, excitement, and suspense that was missing from my nine year-old life.

I wanted to be a part of that excitement.

So, each day after school I would head to the downstairs bathroom (for the great acoustics and privacy, of course) with my songbook and tape recorder in tow. Into the microphone I would belt out show-stoppers in the manner fitting the brightest star on the Search.

My repertoire was vast -- I had the torch songs and the ballads, the seasonal songs and the crowd-pleasers. Still, I needed a gem of a song to catapult me to the top.

One song stood out: New York, New York.

"These vagabond shoes
are leaving the way.
I'm going to make a start of it
In old New York."

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Those aren't the lyrics.

It didn't matter, technicalities such as lyrics and tone stood in the way of my act. Instead, I focussed on the important things -- like designing my costume.

It was to be a leotard -- a tuxedo-stylized leotard. Blue and red, with sequins on the lapels.

I would wear tap shoes, though I didn't know how to tap dance.

And, of course, the top hat was optional -- perhaps I'd wear it in the semi-finals.

Now, here comes the "children take most everything literally" part.

My parents actually told me that I was going to be on Star Search.

They (and I think it may have just been my dad) said something like, "get your act together and we'll get you on the show."

Now, they knew I'd never be on that show. For one thing, they could hear. And no matter how much my mother loved me, the sounds emanating from my mouth no doubt sounded similar to that of the wails of an injured poodle.

Why did they say it?

I'd blame boredom, and a less-than-developed sense of understanding of their child's mind and her inability to detect sarcasm. ²

But I digress.

Say you are a child -- a particularly geeky child with few friends -- and you've just been told you're going to be on Star Search. What would be the first thing you would do?

That's right. Tell everyone in your class the good news.

I believe I don't have to detail their reactions. Needless to say, they laughed my dreams right out of me.

With my Star Search aspirations and assumed lies, I became one of those detestable elementary school figures: the liar.

The moral of the story? Kids who "lie" may simply be ill-informed.

The sight of Ed McMahon and the sound of New York, New York still sends shivers down my pines.

---

¹ No, really.

² Because my parents do read dollarshort.org and because I will be seeing them in two days, I should point out that although my parents did have a fun-loving mean-streak, they did sincerely encourage my other activities -- including the piano and art. Standard disclaimer: my parents aren't bad people.

Comments

[Christine]

I agree with "children take most everything literally". When I was young, my Grandmother had lot's of costume jewelry. The item that caught my eye was he "diamond" heart shaped necklace. She told me when I was 16, I could have the diamond necklace. To this day, I still remember the shock of finding out that the diamonds where really rhinestones!!!!!

[Colin]

Mena, you rock!

[Laura]

Mena, you are hilarious.

[LauraVW]

When I was seven, my parents told me I was related to the Belgian royal family (I don't even know if there is a royal family in Belgium, but that never occured to me at the time), and that I was about 75th in line to the throne. I did what you did, and shared this news with my class, and was of course branded a liar.
I don't think parent s realise how cruel a class of seven year olds can be!!

[Jeff]

LauraVW, there is a Belgian royal family. Here's where you can find more info on it: http://belgium.fgov.be/monarchie/en_index.htm

If you look closely you can see that "a LauraVW" is indeed 75th in line to the throne, your highness.

[Jeff]

-grin

[vis10n]

Well, Laura... you're parents weren't kidding, although they may have gotten the line of succession a little wrong. Seems that we're pretty much _all_ decended from royalty (see this month's issue of ATLANTIC MONTHLY). The question, of course, is which royalty we _want_ to be from. : )

[John]

When I was a kid, whenever I asked my mom's age, she told me she was 100 years old. Over and over again. For some reason, a group of us second graders were sitting around talking and someone asked how old my mom was.

"100 years old."

They laughed. I got mad. They said she couldn't be that old. I got madder. "My mom is not a liar!" Then the fight came . . . it was my mom's 100 year old honor at stake after all.

By the way - she really wasn't 100.

[candy]

Oh, I have stories that would have you falling on the floor -- the sad (funny?) thing is -- now I'm doing it to *my kids* Oh, the irony.

[D W]

You got me smiling there. I was too scared to tell my class anything. :)

[Peanut Gallery]

I had an Annie record. My mother would confiscate it when we had guests. Apparently I was particularly attached to Tomorrow. When I graduated from high school my dad found a recording of me singing Twisted Sisters "We're not going to take it". He played it for everyone. I almost couldn't take it.

[Jerry Kindall]

My mom used to paint. (Now that she's retired, she's taken it up again.) She had taken some commercial art courses and I'd seen her painting and stuff. I mean, I knew that wasn't all she did, mainly she was a mom and she occasionally did secretarial work, but still, I felt it was justified to tell my fifth-grade classmates she was an artist.

Of course, the first time she came in for some kind of program one of the other kids told her "I heard you're an artist!" all eager to hear about that exotic lifestyle. And of course, she said that she, in fact, was a secretary, not an artist. Later she asked me why I had lied to my classmates.

I protested, naturally. "But I've seen you painting!" Hey, it's not MY fault she didn't even know she was an artist.

[denise]

heh. that drawing you put up is the BEST! i made tons of those when i was younger though none have survived. i think they were too painful to look at. :) i love how you gave yourself all 4's. you go girl!

[Kristie]

When I was a little girl my Dad told me that he used to be a girl, and that I would one day grow up to be a man (you can see where this is going, can't you?)

A few days later, my Kindergarten teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and without hesitation, I replied "a man."

My parents got called in for a parent-teacher conference over that.

[Christine]

I can't stop laughing even with the tears streaming down my face. I was mislabeled once as "The Liar" and now I do believe I was just misinformed too. Thank you for clearing that up for me. And for the good laugh at how children really are. (My son is 10. I know how it is now as the Mom.)

[BTEZRA420]

When I was a kid, whenever I asked my mom's age, she told me she was 100 years old. Over and over again. For some reason, a group of us second graders were sitting around talking and someone asked how old my mom was

My Mother has been 39 for the last 21 years...but this year, a few days ago, she finally conceeded...now I am going to miss that silly little game we played every year on her B-Day... crap

[lynn]

i love your stories, mena. thank you for the moral "Kids who lie may simple be ill-informed", going to put it up on my wall. whew, removing old shames.