The PTA sponsors a yearly, nation-wide arts competition. Our children entered every year. Some projects turned out better than others. Oh well.
Competition is for horses, not artists. Nonetheless, Sophia and Miles entered. Many times. Many years.
They submitted entries in the creative writing category.
They’re our children and I’m biased. Absolutely. Guilty. I am their biggest critic and their loudest cheerleader.
The writing was extraordinary. The judging didn’t matter. I knew they had already won. Different grades meant different divisions meant two awards and two winners.
I told Vikki, “They’ve won. It’s so good, I can hardly stand it. She’ll win for her grade and he’ll win for his grade. I’m quite certain they’ll both win at the state level. We might have two national champions sleeping in this house.”
Was I expecting too much? Was my anticipation overtaking my common sense? I wondered.
I left our bed in the dark of night, retrieved my favorite red pen and printed a copy of their essays. I needed to be sure. I attacked their writing like I was the editor-in-chief of the New York Times.
Nope. I was right. The writing was THAT good. Well done, children. Well, freakin’, done.
Awards were announced and presented.
I damn-near fell out of my chair. No first place. No second place. No third place. No honorable mention. Nothing.
My head was spinning. I looked at Vikki.
“Did I miss something?”
I entertain an occasional conspiracy theory out of curiosity, but it’s hardly a guiding light.
Children with obvious connections to the PTA volunteers responsible for organizing the contest and judging the entries won multiple, first-place awards. Their friends and acquaintances occupied many spots on the list of honorees.
Would people actually do that? It seemed impossible. I couldn’t bring myself to think it, much less say it out loud.
Surely not. How ridiculous. I was left to my thoughts.
A trophy and a certificate don’t mean that much.
The backseat brigade was unusually quiet on the way home.
“Y’all, your writing is fantastic. Nothing changes that. You did great work. We’re proud of you.
Oh, and you don’t have to enter again. I don’t think it’s worth it. We can find another contest. If you want to.”
We went to Dari-O for ice cream. It soothes the soul.
My mama and I went to see HARPER VALLEY PTA in the summer of ‘78.
It was a movie about a single mother who takes on the Harper Valley Junior High School PTA. The heroine is ridiculed, dismissed, harassed and threatened by the PTA leadership because of how she chooses to live her life.
Barbara Eden was the star.
The theme song, performed by Jeannie C. Riley, is spectacular. Take a listen when you can.
Barbara Eden’s character dares to ruffle the feathers of those in charge and there is hell to pay.
It’s a movie with a message, whose time has finally come.
Whether it’s declining an offer of help because all that is really wanted is a signed check and quiet in the gallery…
Or manipulating the judging of an elementary contest so the kid with the most prestigious address can hang the blue ribbon on their bedroom wall…
Or refusing to meet with a fifth-grader who is asking for support to create a new event for classmates…
What’s right, is right. What’s wrong, is wrong.
You can be a Luebchow or a Yarborough or a Woodard.
Or, you can sign the card and join the Harper Valley PTA.
Make your choice.
Jeffrey Griffin 