I don't wanna, I don't hafta, and you can't make me.

I've come to the conclusion that I really, really, really, really, really don't like performing.  Now, mind you, this does not apply to my teaching.  I'll happily make a fool of myself all day long for my students...all in the name of learning, of course.  But, when it comes to being in front of a crowd I must absolutely, positively take a pass.

Now, I didn't decide this all of a sudden.  Nope.  It's been coming on stronger and stronger over the years.  And I've had my fair number of performances in my life...ballet and piano as a wee one, commercials and plays as a tween, band as a teenager, belly dancing in my 20s and 30s...so it's not like I'm just a big chicken unwilling to even try it.

Well, today it came to a head.  I was at school in the cafeteria for an amazing dancing presentation.  During one part they asked the teachers in the room to volunteer to come up to be part of the performance.  I stayed seated.  I looked away.  And, you got it, one of the performers came right up to me, grabbed my hand and pulled me up...even though I was giving all kinds of excuses.  "My arm is injured."  "It really, really is."  (True, my arm is injured.)

But up I went, along with a bunch of other teachers.  I got in the line they had formed, realized that I was right by the door...and, by golly, I left.

I was so happy as I walked down the hall quietly saying, "I don't wanna, I don't hafta, and you can't make me."  So, finally...at forty-five...I feel liberated!  Yay, me!

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