“Old McDonald had a farm, E I E I O,” we sang in unison as Ms. Bernum, our music teacher, clanked away on the piano.
“And… on his farm he had a… pig,” Brittany Carlson muttered, head hung.
Pig was the magic word; giggling erupted from my whole kindergarten class. I couldn’t help but laugh along. Who could resist such comedy?
“All right, all right, settle down!” Ms. Bernum snapped, clapping her hands in attempt to quiet the laughter. “Your graduation concert still needs a lot of practice, and if you keep goofing off you will never get finished.”
Our class obeyed and we continued on with Old McDonald and his farm animals (our peers). As we ended, Brittany, still staring down at her Velcro sneakers, shuffled over to the piano bench where Ms. Bernum sat. We leaned forward in our chairs, our eager ears waiting to hear what our classmate had to say.
“Ms. Bernum, I don’t want to be the pig anymore,” Brittany mumbled.
The wrinkles on Ms. Bernum’s face deepened in disproval. “Fine, take a seat.”
Pouting her lip, she crossed the room and plopped in a seat, facing away from the class.
“She is such a baby!” the girl next to me whispered in my ear. I nodded in agreement.
“Patti,” Ms. Bernum said, beckoning me up to the front of the room. “You’ll be the pig for now.”
The pig? But who wants to be the pig? I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing red as I headed toward the front of the room. As I marched up the aisle way, I could hear their laughter echoing.
“From the beginning,” Ms. Bernum instructed sharply. She played a warm-up arpeggio and the song began.
“Old McDonald had a farm, E I E I O.”
I eyed my classmates, cats ready to pounce on me as I squeaked my line.
“And on his farm… he had a pig…”
My classmates shook with giggles at me, the pig. The lowly pig. The object of their taunts. Their faces blurred and my shoulders tried to fight down sobs, heaving as I masked my face with my hands.
The piano stopped. “All right, all right, settle down!” Ms. Bernum yelled. She turned to me. “Go sit back down.”
Everyone silenced once again. I walked back to my seat with my stifled sniffles dominating the room, pushing me further into my shame.
“Is there anyone who will be the pig?” Ms. Bernum demanded.
“I will, Ms. Bernum!” Trent Hamilton volunteered, jumping out of his chair. He took my place in the front of the room, shining brightly as the song restarted.
Trent said his line. The gaps in his teeth could clearly be seen as he smiled along with the rest of the class, even though he was the measly pig, the reason for their laughter. Even though I had been too ashamed to take the part.
And from my seat, I peeped a grin, suppressing a pathetic hiccup, which refused to fade.
