By Tyler
My mom suckered me into participating in our Stake Choir's Christmas program, which she's in charge of. She was very cunning about it. I actually thought that I had gained the advantage in our negotiations as she worked to recruit me. I was wrong.
Originally my mom had hounded Carmen about joining the choir. Carmen told my mom that she would consider joining the choir if I joined as well and so for several weeks after Carmen's concession my mom made passing comments to me about what a wonderful contribution my voice would make. I dismissed the pandering as simply a mother's natural tendency to believe that their children are capable of every possible good thing under the face of the sun. I would smile and nod in agreement, of course, because who doesn't eat up those kinds of compliments? But I was also wary.
Her comments grew more insistent over the weeks until compliments became suggestions. Suggestions then became insistence which then became pleading for me to join the choir.
I began to wonder. How bad could the Ward Choir possibly be? I know for a fact that there are some very talented-looking people in our Ward. I wondered why none of them seemed to be on my mom's guilt-trip hit-list.
Finally my mom put away subtlety and broke out the last, most desperate weapon mothers have in their arsenals; mom-tears.
Now, I know that it makes me sound absolutely criminal to have refused to be a part of the choir until it brought my mother to tears. But, please, be rational before tossing around accusations about me being a mommy-hater. Mommy's can become sick with power, just like anyone else.
So we entered into negotiations. My terms were simple. I would participate in the Ward Choir program if the following terms were met:
- I wasn't expected to sing any solos
- There was no expectation for me to participate beyond the program I was needed for
- I was allowed to dress however I wanted for rehearsals
- I was allowed to bring water to practice
- I couldn't be reprimanded for goofing off
Sure, it meant that Carmen had to participate too, but my terms were accepted and I marveled at my ability to expertly negotiate goof-off privileges. That is, until Sunday came and I realized the breadth of my mom's deception.
Have you ever been exposed to something that you instinctively knew was wrong? It's like all your senses are suddenly in on a joke that your brain hasn't quite picked up on yet. It's like taking a big gulp of milk that's slipped way past its expiration date, or finding yourself deeply embedded in the women's unmentionables territory at Walmart. Your whole body seizes up on the instinct that something you've been exposed to has irrevocably, irreversibly soured. And your poor brain is so preoccupied with trying to sort out what's happened to your body that it doesn't yet realize it's about to have to deal with a whole tidal wave of rotten information.
The choir was fine, before I confuse any of you. All those talented-looking people turned out to be very talented-sounding people and so all is well with them. But something was amiss. Something was... not... right...
"Why is Dad here?" I thought to myself.
There was Dad, sitting on the back row with all the other lower-octave types. Now, a man sitting with men is never anything to be alarmed at, unless that man is a man whom you've never heard sing a note in your life - whom you know to have a reputation for loathing being involved in any public performance of any kind - and those men are the bass section of a choir. Then, obviously, Hell has frozen over.
I moved to the back row. I am a baritone - a sort of LaZboy armchair variety of pseudo tenor - and therefore I was to sit with the real tenors who sat several feet away from the bass section. My mom was already talking, as she always does, and was addressing the choir. I leaned over toward my dad.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered to him. I expected him to explain this was some sort of display of affection and support for my mom and her calling, but instinct was still rolling a ball of doubt around in my stomach. My dad instead looked at me with a sort of sad, sagging look. He cocked an eyebrow and raised a single finger and pointed it directly at me.
"What? Me?! What do you mean?"
"I told your mother I would sing in the choir if you sang in the choir. I didn't think you'd cave."
D'oh.
It all came together. I had been the single barrier of protection my wife had before I relented her to the choir. I sold my dad's comfort and dignity for goof-off privileges. I was the unwitting king-pin in my mother's master design! I had no idea my mom had been so crafty in orchestrating my wife's and my father's demises at my own hands!
So, in the end, kudos to Mom for using plots and craftiness to get us to participate in church activities that promote public shaming. In retrospect it was really very Shakespearean of her.
