What about those times you think you're cool, but everyone else knows you're not?
Watching my brilliant 5-year-old granddaughter perform perfectly in her first piano recital reminded me of one of my first performances.
Karen and I were ten, very ten. Our mothers were always telling us to settle down, as we hung all over each other and laughed hysterically at nothing. We had those giant teeth 10-year-olds have, and we proudly wore our Annette Funicello perms. Karen had cat eye glasses and was about a foot taller than me. Someone must have thought we were cute, though, because we were asked to sing in church on Easter Sunday.
We had new Easter dresses, and we both wore hats and little white gloves for the big day. We started out softly and shyly, "Oh how lovely was the morning..." but by the end of the first verse we were singing confidently, even smiling at the congregation. Then we reached the fatal line: "Oh what rapture filled his bosom..." It was too much! We had just sung the word bosom in church! Our voices started quivering, we clasped hands, and collapsed in giggles, right there, in front of everyone. I don't know if we even finished the song. To this day the word bosom makes me think of Karen, being ten, and how proud our parents must have been.