RIGHTEOUS HARMONY FISTS

I've had such a bloody hard time trying to figure out something that somebody personally taught me that conforms to all the requirements of this assignment that I've started writing this paper not twice, not three times, but four times. Four chuffing times! I can think of lots of things I know how to do, such as how to stress out over writing assignments and give myself ulcers, but of course, I taught myself that. My sister taught me how to be a cynic and ensured I'd never be gullible because of all the horrid things she did to me when we were small, and while that fit the "glad to know," "stays with you," "continues to enrich your life," stuff, I had to disqualify it since it wasn't "pleasant," and I didn't "really enjoy" learning it. I'm not saying I have too many ethics to lie and say it was, it's just that I'm a really aweful liar and wouldn't be able to pull it off.

All of this being what it is, I've decided to write about how my mum taught both me and my sister an important lesson about writing plays, books, stories, and other things of this kind. This lesson, which I really enjoyed learning, am glad I know, has stayed with me, continues to enrich my life, happened long ago or recently, was pleasant, and which I remember fondly, entailed the following: Plays, books, stories, and other things of this kind should have plots. And we were like DUDE! That's heavy! That's out there, man! A PLOT? Who even ever thought of something like that? That's like... whoa! And we really meant it, too!

Anyway, at the time of this important lesson which I really enjoyed learning, etc., I was five years old and my mother was 29 (she's 25 now). Mother was steadfast and cool-headed (she didn't even break a sweat when, only a year prior, I passed over a hand-written sinister note reading "IM HUNGY MAKE SUPER IN 10 SECUNDS R ELS" while she was on the phone and it was really time to make supper, NOT talk on the phone) as well as gentle, patient (very patient), and encouraging.

It was she who fostered our love of the performing arts as she watched every production that I and the 7-year-old blighted older sister Angela put on-we're talking even the metric tonnes of these productions that occurred before we had acquired the knowledge that productions of this kind ought to have storylines. These were staged with the help of a blanket across the doorway and all of our dolls and stuffed animals. Mum was a wonderful director and offered constructive criticism whenever it would be helpful. At the time when she bestowed upon us this particular gem of knowledge, which, as I have mentioned, is something I am glad to know and that has stayed with me while continuing to enrich my life, Angela and I had just gone into Scene 2: Christine's Shower. Christine was a doll with curly blonde hair who was a "My Beautiful Girl" or something like that. She was my favourite! Anyway... I guess Scene 2 was the controversial one or something, since, as one might divine from the title, it was a nude scene. I don't know if mum was waiting for Christine singing off-key and dancing spastically in her birthday suit (note: dolls don't really move or sing on their own, we were actually moving her ourselves and doing a voice) to tie into the events from Scene 1, of which I can remember nothing except that one of the major characters in it was a pink sheep I had named Pinky whom my dad always called Blacky, or if she had been waiting to tell us this for some time. All things being as they may-she finally came out with it and gently explained about how usually things claiming to be stories have a plot.

As I've alluded, Angela and I were COMPLETELY blown away and had a hard time understanding exactly what a... "plot" was, and how to incorporate it into the madcap zany antics we enjoyed so immensely. Mum was a patient and long-suffering teacher, and all of her efforts paid off when we came out with our next work-"The Swedish Coin," a rather complex and elaborate stage musical in which all of our stuffed animals stole the show's namesake from one another until finally the happily married rabbit couple, Bunny and Rebekah, got their rabbity paws on it and came to some kind of noble conclusion. When I teach elementary students, I will be noble, just as those two paragons of lagomorphism were noble, and no injustice will be allowed to encroach upon that island of elementary tranquillity; nay, not while I am there to defend it!