miraculously effective, sixth grade democracy.
And amid the wrangling and bickering, Hart also saw progress, hour by hour, day by day.
School concerts rarely happen without help from parents. This one was no exception, and when the parent brigade began to work side by side with the kids, Hart felt certain for the first time that this concert was actually going to happen. True, it might still end up being a huge embarrassment, but it was definitely going to happen.
At least a dozen moms and dads began helping Colleen and her decorating crew, some directly, and some just donating materials. Cardboard and Styrofoam and paint and glue and glitter and string and wire began to pile up so much that the whole decorating operation had to be moved from the chorus room to the stage in the old gym.
One mom brought a portable sewing machine and stitched three king-size sheets together. Under Allisonâs direction three other parents helped a group of kids paint the huge banner. Then they began working on several smaller banners and signs.
On the Sunday before the Wednesday concert, six moms and four dads showed up to help hang the decorations and adjust the sound system and set up the folding chairs in the pattern that Jim Barker had designed. There werenât going to be any raised platforms, and the lighting wasnât going to remind anyone of a TV show, but Jim had presented some creative ideas, and the chorus had voted and approved.
Lisa Mortonâs dad had decided not to spend twelve thousand dollars on wiring and harnessesso his little girl could fly like an angel, but he and Lisa had come up with something else almost as dramatic. And on that last Sunday afternoon they were both hard at work in the old gym.
Mr. Meinert kept to the background, but he was hard at work too. He was the one convincing the P. E. teachers to double up their classes and stay out of the old gym for a few days. He was the one convincing teachers with lunch duty to take the kids to the playground instead of the old gym on these blustery December days. He was the one assuring the principal that he hadnât lost his mind and that he wasnât trying to give the school a black eye by letting sixth graders run their own concert. He was the one showing up at school early, and working with the soloists during his lunch period, and staying late almost every evening. He was the one making sure the doors of the old gym were open on Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon, and then locked again after everyone else had gone home.
Mr. Meinert was the one who also had to try to find some peace in his own home. The extratime he spent at school was not helping him find a new job. His wife was not happy about the long hours, and Lucy Meinert had plenty to say about it.
âYou told me that youâd thrown this whole holiday concert mess back at those ungrateful kids, and what did I do? I applauded. I praised you. I thought, âMy wonderful husband is finally getting smart. Heâs finally getting fed up with the way that miserable school system has been treating him.â And now this. Honestly, David. You know what? Itâs a good thing youâre getting fired, thatâs what. Because if you werenât, I donât know if I could just stand by and watch someone I love struggle so hard to keep on teaching when he knows his whole career is swirling away down the drain!â
And Mr. Meinert was the one patiently playing the piano, accompanying the chorus every class period as they scrambled to learn a bunch of new songs in far too little time. At Hartâs invitation, he had offered suggestions about songs that might work with their theme, and heâd made some suggestions about the very last song, too. But once the chorus had madetheir choices, he was just the accompanist. That was the hardest part for him. He wanted to begin giving orders. He wanted to make the kids learn their harmony parts. It wasnât going to happen. He
And amid the wrangling and bickering, Hart also saw progress, hour by hour, day by day.
School concerts rarely happen without help from parents. This one was no exception, and when the parent brigade began to work side by side with the kids, Hart felt certain for the first time that this concert was actually going to happen. True, it might still end up being a huge embarrassment, but it was definitely going to happen.
At least a dozen moms and dads began helping Colleen and her decorating crew, some directly, and some just donating materials. Cardboard and Styrofoam and paint and glue and glitter and string and wire began to pile up so much that the whole decorating operation had to be moved from the chorus room to the stage in the old gym.
One mom brought a portable sewing machine and stitched three king-size sheets together. Under Allisonâs direction three other parents helped a group of kids paint the huge banner. Then they began working on several smaller banners and signs.
On the Sunday before the Wednesday concert, six moms and four dads showed up to help hang the decorations and adjust the sound system and set up the folding chairs in the pattern that Jim Barker had designed. There werenât going to be any raised platforms, and the lighting wasnât going to remind anyone of a TV show, but Jim had presented some creative ideas, and the chorus had voted and approved.
Lisa Mortonâs dad had decided not to spend twelve thousand dollars on wiring and harnessesso his little girl could fly like an angel, but he and Lisa had come up with something else almost as dramatic. And on that last Sunday afternoon they were both hard at work in the old gym.
Mr. Meinert kept to the background, but he was hard at work too. He was the one convincing the P. E. teachers to double up their classes and stay out of the old gym for a few days. He was the one convincing teachers with lunch duty to take the kids to the playground instead of the old gym on these blustery December days. He was the one assuring the principal that he hadnât lost his mind and that he wasnât trying to give the school a black eye by letting sixth graders run their own concert. He was the one showing up at school early, and working with the soloists during his lunch period, and staying late almost every evening. He was the one making sure the doors of the old gym were open on Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon, and then locked again after everyone else had gone home.
Mr. Meinert was the one who also had to try to find some peace in his own home. The extratime he spent at school was not helping him find a new job. His wife was not happy about the long hours, and Lucy Meinert had plenty to say about it.
âYou told me that youâd thrown this whole holiday concert mess back at those ungrateful kids, and what did I do? I applauded. I praised you. I thought, âMy wonderful husband is finally getting smart. Heâs finally getting fed up with the way that miserable school system has been treating him.â And now this. Honestly, David. You know what? Itâs a good thing youâre getting fired, thatâs what. Because if you werenât, I donât know if I could just stand by and watch someone I love struggle so hard to keep on teaching when he knows his whole career is swirling away down the drain!â
And Mr. Meinert was the one patiently playing the piano, accompanying the chorus every class period as they scrambled to learn a bunch of new songs in far too little time. At Hartâs invitation, he had offered suggestions about songs that might work with their theme, and heâd made some suggestions about the very last song, too. But once the chorus had madetheir choices, he was just the accompanist. That was the hardest part for him. He wanted to begin giving orders. He wanted to make the kids learn their harmony parts. It wasnât going to happen. He
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