Opinion: A really groovy pratfall


It finally happened, friends. I fell off my wobble chair in the middle of class while wearing a dress. You’re welcome.

Our story begins at Wilsonstock, an annual lip sync battle that celebrates the music of the 1960s while teaching U.S. History students about the counterculture movement. Kids are required to take on the role of an artist or band and perform a song in costume. In the spirit of solidarity, I, too, dress up, usually in full flower child regalia. As a devoted and enthusiastic karaoke fan, this is one of my most favorite lessons of the year.

Round 1 and 2 went well: an outstanding Jefferson Airplane number and a dead-on Jerry Garcia rendition of “Truckin’” overwhelmingly made up for a rather lackluster Stones performance and the fact that I kept getting hot flashes.

I was in my element by the time fifth period rolled in, excited to hear from Credence Clearwater Revival and Marvin Gaye. I assumed my position at my desk, manning Spotify and the lyrics projector, and cued the first act, “California Dreamin.’” As I started singing along and grooving on my stool, trying to get the crowd engaged by waving my phone flashlight, I shifted to the right too far, then overcompensated to the left. The slick polyester blend of my paisley smock exaggerated the movements, and the next thing I knew, I was slow-motion falling onto the floor. I could not save myself.

The ensuing hot flash had nothing to do with hormones. With all eyes on me, I climbed back onto my wobble chair and called for Jimi Hendrix. The show must go on. You’re welcome!

Peace out.