Thank goodness for Facebook Memories.
I told my kids this story for years, because it affected me so deeply. Here’s the short version:
I was in 6th grade– Leonard Middle school, Fort Worth, Texas–we got out of class for a school assembly in the auditorium–it was a “talent show.” Whatever. At least we were excused from class.
We squirmed and yawned as the usual parade of bad baton twirling routines, failed magic tricks, and way out of tune songs were not so much “performed” as “executed.” But, hey–it’s middle school, what do you want?
A quick aside--this was the 70s, not only were we white kids and black kids being integrated for the first time ever in those particular public schools, but also special needs students, some with the kinds of disabilities for which our not so distant ancestors institutionalized their children, were also being integrated for the first time to this extent. Bottom line: kids in wheelchairs and crutches were in the same hallways as jocks and cheerleaders–except it was all very new to everyone. We were all adjusting.
Back to the Talent Show
After a long show that was short on talent, a proper band took the stage. They were older kids, probably High Schoolers. Guitar, drums (already in place) bass, keys, the works. What are they doing here? Suddenly, we are paying attention.
And then: a “Special Ed ” student slowly walks onto the stage. We reocgnize him instantly, though we’d never spoken to him. He’s using the kind of crutches that clasp around your forearms. His legs are gnarled. Looking back, my best guess is that he actually had a form of cerebral palsy. I don’t think he could speak perfectly clearly. What is he doing here?
He had long, hippie hair–the perfect rock star look of the day, and he was dressed in pretty cool threads–big-ass bell bottoms, a long vest with fringes. We are intrigued, and he still hasn’t sung a note. I can remember having a pit in my stomach. I was so scared for this guy. I was afraid of a disaster. I think the rest of the audience was scared, too, because the whispers turned to dead silence as the singer efforted his last steps to the mic.
And then the band kicks it off–it’s “Never Can Say Goodbye” by the Jackson 5 and, hey, the band sounds really good! It’s a short intro…and now the singer with the twisted body opens his mouth and……
“Oh-My-God! he sounds exactly like a solid version of Michael Jackson. Are you serious?”
Now, I don’t have a whole lot of musical talent, but I’ve had a really good ear since I was a little kid. I’ve always known which notes are supposed to be played or sung, whether i could do it myself or not.
And here’s the thing: Every note was perfect. His body arched and swayed, but the voice was pure. The notes were right on!
And decades before “ordinary” kids could be discovered and made into stars on TV competition shows, long before iPhones captured everything for posterity, and Tik Tok accounts could put you before millions, the young crowd in a Texas Middle school auditorium were treated to a musical moment that unexpectedly taught an important lesson before vanishing unrecorded into the air.
Now, here’s the part that seems like a movie, but it was real:
People stood. They cheered. Some cried. A performer could not have asked for a better reception. I think there was some kind of magic that softened our cruel Middle School hearts, and what I know in my old man heart is that the magic was music. I am a Jackson 5 fan and this song has never been too far from my ears or my memories. I always loved music, but I think what changed that day was the experience of having been so emotionally moved by a performance and a song.
It was just 5 minutes in a forgotten talent show, but it was transformative. I sure wish I could thank that kid, but I never knew his name. Not then, not now.
I do know his name is not Special Ed Kid.
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This article is magic. Perfectly captured.