Monday, June 30, 2014

Sherman, a Jar of Honey And a Bucket of Broken Dreams.


We had this guy in our school named Sherman who was kind of heavier and very quiet.  Looking back I guess he was kind of a mama's boy.  I mean every boy is some mama's boy, aren't they?  We all really liked him, there was nothing to dislike.  He was just very gentle and nice. Like some people you just look at and want to pet them, like a big cuddly bear, which is probably why God made humans NOT fluffy so that people did not make that mistake.  Some lines between man and animals have to be maintained just so as not to confuse the children.


One year we did a play about the ant and the grasshopper and lets face it, with an ant and a grasshopper being the lead roles, the supporting roles had no choice but to really suck.  Some of us were flowers, and some . . . other bugs.  Sherman was supposed to be a Bumble Bee.

He got to wear a big pillow stuffed black and yellow costume with these wire wings with nylons stretched over them.  He didn't have a lot of lines.  He was just supposed to Buzzz around the stage and flap his hands holding them tight to his body and up near his face.   His big line was to come out on the stage with a big jar of honey for the winter pantry and  ask the ant where he wanted him to put it.

It was not very believable.  We stretched the laws of realism to accommodate all the kids in our class and to have them in cute costumes.  You can't really sell house flies, which would have been a more realistic interpretation for the prairies and the ants and grasshoppers, but bees and butterflies ... well that can be cute, right?  Flies .. not so much.

Well Sherman the bumble bee snapped.  I guess we should be thankful it happened in dress rehearsal and that we were a few years away from video games and the high powered assault gun free for all. We were still trying to talk out our anger and people exercised personal control and responsibility.  Man we were backwards.  Postal workers were still going to work without bullet proof vests on.

Turned out Sherman got into the honey and he birthed hyperactivity right there on the spot, proving sugar could turn a  bored quiet child into a weapon of mass destruction.  He buzzed himself into insanity.  He came screaming onto the stage with one of the kid's crutches and was waving them around his head like horns.  He was like some kind of mad bee-bull bouncing off of the walls and the other little insects on the stage.  He started to charge everything that moved and he "stabbed" all the ants, the grasshoppers, a couple of butterflies and several flowers, while switching back and forth from making the tarzan yell, singing the theme song from Hercules and screaming that Jesus wanted him for a sunnnnbeaMMM!  Then he climbed up one of the curtains and said "death to all the giraffes" and jumped into the lost and found box with all the stinky smelly gym strip that people "lost" and refused to claim .. like 20 years of lost and found stinky smelly gym strip.  I think the school was trying to prove that composting could occur indoors using stinky smelly gym strip.  

Sherman almost died.  The people who fished him out almost died.  His wings were broken and  several people strongly advocated putting him down but I fought for him.  I was wearing green that day and feeling very peaceful and vegan like and wanted to save the earth, the animals, the bashed up bee . . . and my solo that I was supposed to sing in the second act.

It was a real buzz kill. The opening had to be delayed.  The bee had to be medicated, the ants needed therapy and the grasshopper had a broken arm.


The show eventually went on, Sherman managed to be a bee, to be adorable, and to say his line with his fake jar of honey and his pillows, and his wings.  He got a standing ovation.   He got his picture in the local paper.

Time went on.  We did other plays.  Sherman went on to be a pig farmer.  He lost weight.  He eats honey again, in moderation ... and no-one has died.

Bees however are facing extinction.

I would like to make this story magical and have a purpose or some circle of deep meaning and connection but I can't.  It is just a stupid story that made no sense at the time and even less now and leaves me just wondering what the point was and if God knows that honey, in the wrong hands, can be a weapon or that sweaty stinky smelly gym strip, while smelling like rotton vegetables and other crap, does not compost in a box on the back of the stage.

And then my meds kick in and I usually go to sleep.

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