The Sean Conroy Lifeletter #71- Pick a Major!

The Sean Conroy Lifeletter #71

Happy Father’s Day! And Happy Juneteenth!
 
So yeah, in 6th grade I got put in a program for “gifted” students. It might seem like we should have gotten beaten up by the other students for being nerds, but instead, they just circulated petitions at recess, about how unfair it was that we were being treated better than they were (those fucking nerds). 
 
The craziest thing about that program was that one day a week we had enrichment classes. Art, Dance, and Film. 
 
FOR THE WHOLE DAY.
 
No math, no science, no reading, no writing (well, maybe some writing in Film class). Just dancing around, drawing a bunch of crap, and being silly on camera. For 20% of our week (see? I didn't even NEED math class that much). 
 
We had to “pick a major” in one of the three at the beginning of the year, and that was what we would do all Thursday afternoon after lunch. The morning was split between the two classes we didn’t major in.
 
I got together with two of my friends to discuss our choice of majors- the pros and cons of each, our individual strengths and weaknesses, whether this or that major would help us get further in life, how it would look on our college applications, whether it would limit our incomes later in life, everything it's important to take into consideration when you are picking an arts “major” in 6th grade. And ultimately we made what we thought at the time, and what I in retrospect agree, was a brilliantly counterintuitive choice. 
 
We would major in dance. Dance? Why would three 12 year old boys major in dance? We weren’t actually dancers, in any way. We had no dance training. We had no dance aspirations. We had no dance dreams. We didn't even see dance as a potential avocation, going forward. Who would major in dance? We didn’t know for sure, but we had an idea.
 
Girls.
 
That first day we went in, and the class was the three of us, and a bunch of girls. Like, a lot. Fun! I don’t remember a lot about it, I’m guessing we probably... danced around a bit? It was definitely the first time where I did that acting/dance/improv warmup where you connect a sound to a movement- in this case the sound was my name and the movement was ... something fandancical. No idea. How would YOU dance “Sean Con-roy”?  But I very specifically remember the teacher, whose real name I won’t use (privacy or what have you), but let’s say it was Janet Jenkins (seriously it wasn't), screaming “JA-NET JEN-KINS!”  and flinging her body around so enthusiastically that I was afraid she had dislocated something.  But it was just her dignity and high status as a teacher floating away.
 
It turned out she wasn’t really much of a teacher, I guess more of a dancer? Though she did leave for a while mid-year to compete on a game show...  The class was fun, although (or perhaps because) she didn’t have much in the way of classroom management and discipline skills. Basically, a two-hour dance party every Thursday afternoon, is how I remember it. About the extent of her being in control was that sometimes she would force one of my friends (the one who was the most out of control of the three of us) to go sit in the kindergarten class.  Very small chairs.*
 
*Of those two other guys, one went on to be very high up in the food chain of a major media conglomerate, and the other became a lawyer. Then, a convicted felon. “Con-VIC-ted FE-lon!” I got into comedy. Which... insert joke about splitting the difference or whatever.
 
We also went to our first art class, and our first film class. The classes we had decided not to major in. 
 
I’m guessing the art class was fine- we probably did something with cray pas or charcoals or pastels. They always give you the good shit the first day, to get your hopes up. Then comes the crushing disappointment. 
 
But the film class? Whoa.
 
We decided after that we wouldn’t go to the art class anymore- we would spend all morning in film, first ours, then the one that was only for art majors. Yes, I became an inveterate class-cutter in a 6th grade gifted enrichment program. The art teacher never said a word about it to us (she must have noticed, we were the only boys in the class). The folm teacher also must have noticed, because we were there way too much. But he never said anything either.  I suffered no consequences for it, ever (except years later, perhaps, when I became involved in animation and was relentlessly mocked by my colleagues for my deeply rudimentary and primitive drawing skills). **
 
**There may also have been karmic retribution when I reached 7th grade, and one time the hottest girl in 8th grade sat next to me on the bus on a school trip and, during the course of our conversation, asked me if I wanted to sleep with her. It definitely felt like a bit of a trick question, with no right answer, but before I could answer, I realized there were a bunch of her friends sitting in various parts of the bus in close proximity to us, watching intently, snickering... how is that karmic retribution for cutting art class? She was the art teacher’s daughter. Different school, same family.
 
Anyway, film class...
 
TO BE CONTINUED

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