Talent Shows in My Family

This story is in the background of why I initiated "The Great Lesbian Talent Show" in 1974 -

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

When I was growing up, there were talent shows on both sides of my family.  These were living room talent shows that took place sometimes when a large bunch of extended family got together.  

Once, when we had a bunch of my mother's family at our house, my mother announced at three o'clock, that we were going to have a talent show at four, followed by dinner.  That would give everybody an hour to prepare their act. We could have a solo act or team up.  We could use anything in the house as a prop, but just remember, and then my mother recited:  "Lovely to look at/ Delightful to hold/ But if you break it/ We mark it sold!"  Several voices joined in the jingle, and someone called out, "Don't touch Sandra's antiques!"  

Then all the kids re-ordered ourselves to prepare our acts. The show started at four. My cousin Suzanne and I sang "We Were Strolling Through the Park One Day."  She is a very good singer and I am not.  Suitably, I was the second voice, echoing "one day," etc.  Or maybe we did "Down by the Old Mill Stream," another song in our repertoire of duets, with a part for a second voice, "Not the the river but the stream." For props we used two umbrellas that we found somewhere, and we used them like dapper walking sticks, not opening them in the house.

My cousin Cynthia's act was memorable for it's humor, or irony. She did a hammed up rendition of "Sisters, We Are Sisters," the irony being that she was an only child.  She supplemented her singing with a few dance steps, with her arm around an imaginary sister, and everyone appreciated her humor.

My mother always did the same act, at every opportunity, a dramatic recitation of "The Highwayman," with me doing (but not overdoing) second voice and sound effects.  Years later I would read a feminist analysis of the portrayal of women in English poetry, and "The Highwayman" would be sharply taken to task. And the poem deserves that, but it is still indelible as a fond memory in my mind, for its association, not content.

Another memory I have is the get together at my Uncle Sonny and Aunt Rolene's house.  It was Christmas day, and while we didn't actually celebrate Christmas,  my Aunt Anne and Uncle Sid brought presents for all the kids, from their Army-Navy Surplus store, which was closed for the day.  The presents were a flannel night shirt, and a pair of muck-lucks, which were a canvass version of a soft soled Native American snow boot. This story is set in Massachusetts where such things were of interest. All the kids were given both items but only after each had  performed in some way.

Then, my uncle Sonny announced that he was going to read something that he had written about some one we all knew. He instructed us, "Let's see if you can guess who this is about."

He was describing a woman, her personality, more than her appearance, and it turned out, he had written about my mother. There was a point when a few people figured it out.  "That's Sandra!"  "It's about Sandra!"  and someone said "Sandra would rather be right than president!"  because his piece had asserted that about its unnamed subject.  I had not heard this expression before, and I  pondered what  was meant.  

Concerning my sister Jacquie's participation, in later yeas, she commented,  more than once,  that when she was nineteen! and engaged! she was still expected to perform.    When she was nineteen, I was only four.  But I think she managed to wrangle her way out of performing at some point.  I wonder what her act was when it was required.      

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On my father's side these talent shows were called "Bettski and I Shows" because when the six Rubin siblings were kids, almost every act would begin with one of the kids saying, "And now, Bettski and I..." are going to do this, or that.  My Aunt Betts was in all the acts.

The one act I remember Betts doing, however, was a solo act, at her house, in the living room.  It was a Yiddish song about a duck in a butcher shop, protesting and lamenting its fate. The song was by Mickey Katz and it was a parody of a popular American song, "I Want To Go Where The Wild Goose Goes."  

It was a dramatic rendition and when she came to the chorus, Aunt Betts crouched down low, like she was going to do a Kazachke, but instead of kicking her legs out, she waddled in a circle, flapping her elbows, while singing the desperate narration of the doomed duck. As a child watching this, it was the hilarity that struck me and stayed with me.

I also remember my cousin Ronnie, Betts' and Harry's son, telling a dirty joke, when it was his turn.  Ronnie had an inoperable brain tumor.  He used a wheelchair and his speech was impaired. As he told the joke, sentence by sentence, our Uncle Jack repeated each sentence for clarity. When he finished the joke, first every body laughed, then the grown-ups pseudo-reprimanded him. 

On an other occasion, however, my father was seriously reprimanded.  At Aunt Mildred and Uncle Irving's house, my cousin Bonnie did what she called "an interpretive dance entitled 'The Leaves Are Falling.'"  

All the Rubins seemed to be good dancers, including my father.  But my father had a stubborn narrow view of how to dance.  My parents had previously argued about this when their social group was  taking Mambo lessons, and my mother wanted to, and my father just refused, and began making speeches about how to dance.  His way was the only way. Was this just resistance to change?     

In any case, when my cousin Bonnie finished her interpretive dance, my father jumped up and  mocked her, imitating the movements clunkishly, and she ran out of the room crying.      

All the grown-ups immediately reprimanded him, very firmly, and told him he had to apologize. This is an unusual story because my father was generally fun and popular with all the cousins.  But he found her and apologized apparently, as they both came back in together, and the show continued.  

On an other occasion, Bonnie sang "Sixteen Tons," a well known song of the day, and also in her repertoire was "Dungaree Doll." I actually don't remember her doing these songs, but when some of the Rubin cousins re-connected on Facebook, after many years, we were reminiscing and, in answer to my questions, she told me that.  

When my Rubin cousins were talking about this on Zoom,  Berni said she and her father did "Me and My Shadow."

I did that with my father, too, when I was very young, I said.  Bonnie said that we all did that one.  It was common to everybody's repertoire, apparently.