Nobody goes to Eagle Ridge PTA General Meetings. I'm sure
homeowner's associations, city councils and committees of all sorts
have meetings with equally poor attendance, unless people are
really mad about something.
I have a theory about meetings. Either you are gainfully
employed and already attend way too many meetings or you
deliberately don't have a job because you never want to attend any
meetings. Ever. My meeting behavior falls into two categories: 1)
Barely conscious, fidgeting and doodling; 2) Taking minutes that I
type only after Action Item deadlines are long past (which is okay
because no one reads them); or 3) Being disruptive, completely
ignoring the agenda in favor of talking about the funny thing that
happened on the way to the meeting.
I had an inspiration for the next PTA Meeting. The entire Board
will perform a "Mother's Rap." I can't decide if the participants
should wear baggy pants, bling and boxers or go with the cleverly
incongruous June-Cleaver-pearls-and-heels. Definitely one of the
suburban mothers will be inhaling and exhaling into a Playschool
tape recorder microphone. Someone else could slam a cocktail shaker
repeatedly into her thigh. Here is the lyric {with stage
direction}:
{Each Mother, thrusting out chins and slouching, should take a
stanza, ideally shoulder-butting the previous Mother out of the
way.}
We make your breakfast, we butter your toast,
ain't no boast, who do you think loves you the most?
We're mothers. We gave birth to your brothers.
{Non-rapping Mothers are welcome to spontaneous outbursts of "mm
hmm" or "you go girl"}
You see your friend, you think he's cool,
don't act a fool, who'd you think got his butt to school?
His mother. Don't dis your mother.
Hours of labor just to crown your head gives me plenty of cred,
so start makin' your bed, don't play dead to your mother.
Bounce a quarter on those covers.
Yeah, talking to your friends I ain't got no tact
but that don't excuse your talking back, don't call me
whacked.
We're mothers. Won't get another.
We brought you into this world and we can take you out,
go ahead, pout and shout, we know better what life's about.
We're mothers. Listen to your mothers.
Girl, there'll come a day when you're out someplace,
you'll look in a mirror and see my face, ain't no disgrace.
We're mothers. There ain't no others.
Boy, you won't believe it when I'm sipping tea
but you'll marry a girl who's just like me,
can't wait to see your kid's mother. Give sugar to your
mother.
Don't you be using our name in vain.
{Mothers freeze in a half-crouched posture with wrists and
fingers contorted, not unlike an arthritic osteoporosis pose.}
Now, take out the trash.
{Mothers cross arms in front, glare belligerently but briefly at
the audience, then abruptly turn their backs to the crowd as it
bursts into wild applause.}
Would you come to a meeting to see that?