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By the title, did you automatically think about feet? Just like when someone tells you to not think about an elephant, doesn’t an elephant float into your mind? I just realized that the three postings from my Stupid book that I put in this blog all have something to do about feet. I was not aware of this obsession. Maybe it comes from years of concern over my biggish, oddish feet. Well, in this post I will leave feet out of the story and take my stand elsewhere. Please enjoy this chapter from Flirting with Stupid and let me know any thoughts or suggestions you may have.

Chapter Twelve

Stupid Cards

After initiation, school progressed fairly uneventfully.  We had different teachers for each subject and had lockers now, but little else had changed.  What was funny though was we felt differently.  It’s like there was a new found maturity when we climbed that third set of stairs to high school.  Also, boys seemed to notice girls more and vice versa.  We got to go to school dances which was thrilling and nerve wracking.  Occasionally Bob Seger would play at our school dances or the ones at the neighboring all boys school, Catholic Central.  Many of the girls started wearing makeup and just looked more womanly now that we shed the plaid jumpers and could wear fitted skirts and tailored blouses. There were still rules, but the atmosphere was definitely more relaxed.  

Our English teacher, Mr. Manoogian, was a big favorite.  He would talk sports with the boys and smile pleasantly at the girls.  He was easy going, yet the boys knew not to cross a line.  English, in the ninth grade, encompassed reading books and writing reports on them, creative writing, and even speeches, my least favorite part of the class.  Mr. Manoogian tried to keep things interesting.  One of the speeches we had to give was supposed to be on some kind of demonstration.  Hmmm, what could I do that would be different?  Maybe I could do a magic trick?  That might sound far-fetched, but one of my dad’s hobbies was magic, specifically card tricks.

My dad was an English teacher at a public high school, Southfield Lathrup.  His hobbies included playing the piano, writing books, painting, and magic.  Most nights as I went to bed I could hear my dad at the piano or tapping away at his typewriter.  Once, at a fundraising basketball game between the teachers and students, I saw the families of some of our lay teachers in the crowd.  It struck me as odd to see that my teachers had kids for some reason, and I found myself gawking at them.  I remember mentioning it at dinner one night and mom getting a funny look on her face.

“Sis, what do you think your father does for a living?” she asked.  I stopped, looking surprised.  Of course, I knew my dad was a teacher, but had not thought of myself as one of those strange ‘kids of the teacher’ that people gawked at when you went to their school events before now.  I must remember not to bring up what my dad does for a living unless pressed. 

 The reason for this background on my father is, he not only liked to do card tricks, but he would, from time to time, teach us some simple card tricks.  This could be my demonstration speech!  I worked with my dad on perfecting my card trick.  I chose one that did not require too much card manipulation, since I knew I would be nervous and wanted the trick to work.  Dad always taught us that the ‘patter’ or what you said during the trick was even more important than the trick itself. It had to be a combination of entertainment and distraction from what you were really doing.  

In previous years, whenever I had to give a speech, I tried to volunteer to be the first to go.  This was, by no means, because I liked to give speeches or get up in front of the room, but I figured out early on that going first had certain advantages.  The expectations were low, because there was no one yet to compare you to, and everyone else was only half listening because they were nervously waiting for their turn to speak in front of the group.  And, of course, the most obvious reason, you were done first.  I was always sick to my stomach on speech days, so I tried not to prolong that misery any longer than necessary.

Mr. Manoogian did not ask for volunteers, but did a random draw and set up a schedule of so many speeches a day.  I was third up on my day.  First, Tom did a speech on how to oil and break in a new baseball mitt.  Then, Joan got up and started unbuttoning her blouse, to do her speech on how to iron a blouse.  She, of course, had another blouse on underneath, but it was definitely an attention grabber.  Everyone was giggling as she started on what might have otherwise been a boring subject.  She got applause and sat down pleased with herself, as she should be.  It was very clever.  

Now, it was my turn.  I was so nervous and praying that my hands wouldn’t get too sweaty to manage the cards.  I did some card set up at my desk.  I slowly walked to the front of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began.  “How would you like to see a card trick?”  Everyone started nodding and shouting out “Yes.”  

“Well, I’m not going to do one.  I’m going to do a mind reading trick.”  The class was staring at me with amusement.  

“I need a volunteer from the audience.”  Many hands went up.  This is the part I should have put more thought into.  It never occurred to me before that moment that I should have pre-chosen my ‘volunteer’.  Maybe I should have even practiced with them.  Instead, I only practiced on my brothers at home and now it was too late.  Since I was nervous, I just pointed to the first hand I saw shoot up.

“You.  Please come up.”  It was Karen, a red head who could often be obnoxious in her attempts to be funny.  My internal voice started panicking.  Karen!  Why’d you pick Karen?  What if she tries to sabotage your trick in an effort to be funny? 

 I had the sense that I was screwed, but I had already called her up, and as dad would say, “The show must go on.”  He also gave me some clever lines to cover if one actually does botch a trick.  I was prepared, but hoped I wouldn’t have to use those lines.

After shuffling the cards a few times and doing a couple of fancy fake cuts dad taught me, I began.

“Karen, I’m going to riff through this deck of cards and want you to tell me when to stop.  After going through about half the cards, she called, “Stop!”  I gave her the bottom half of the deck and asked her to put them behind her back.  I then instructed her to put the top card in about the middle of the deck and the bottom card in about the middle of the deck.  That’s when it happened.  She dropped part of the deck of cards.  The class gasped.  I don’t know if she did it on purpose or not, but judging by the smirk on Karen’s face, she thought she was being funny.  There were some giggles across the room. 

I quickly took the cards she still held in her hands from her while remarking, “You never could follow directions, could you Karen?”  with a big grin on my face, that I didn’t feel.  Everyone laughed, well, everyone but Karen.  I picked up the cards from the floor and resumed the trick.  The rest just involved Karen showing the card I tapped on to the class (and me hoping it was still the card I meant to tap on) and us counting cards and then the big reveal.  I dramatically pulled a card out of the deck.

“Is this your card?”  

“No,” she says and she starts to get her sneer back.

“Oh, that’s right, I told you I was going to do a mind reading trick.  I want you to think about your card.  And don’t worry if that instruction is too hard, the class saw the card too and can help you.”  Okay, that remark was not necessary or part of the trick, but I was still upset about her dropping the cards.

“Is your card black?”  she nodded yes.

“I’m seeing a picture card.  Is your card by chance a Jack of Clubs?”  By the look on her face, I knew it was.  The class cheered for me. 

 The trick actually worked.  She not only didn’t screw it up, but gave it a more dramatic flair, by her attempt to do so.  I was elated.  I couldn’t wait to tell dad about it.  That really was magic!  Whew.  I practically floated back to my desk, and to the sounds of clapping!  What a thrill!  Everyone around me wanted to know how I did it.  But following my dad’s teachings, I replied, “A good magician never tells.”  

I learned to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  I also learned the excitement of performing when things went well.