Sherry Miller. I met Sherry in Kindergarten. We sat next to each other at the big table, as there were no individual desks in our classroom. We helped each other to hold those Lincoln Log size pencils and crayons, shared our snacks, and laid our mats next to each other during nap time. She was smart beyond her years, knowing how to write both her first and last names, while I was struggling to make a legible "M". But I was class toy mechanic, having torn apart and rebuilt all four Tonka trucks, and thus earned Sherry's undying affection. I think I fell in love with her during our Christmas Pageant that year. She played lead triangle. The spotlight twinkling off the glitter in the frames of her glasses only added to her allure. She was a goddess.
The following summer we spent most of the days playing together. She loved playing "road construction" with me, and the ideal setting was beneath the steps leading to my back porch. The dirt was the perfect consistency for building roads with our collection of trucks and earthmovers. Just moist enough to be cooling in the summer heat, with very few stones to get in the way. So here we were, squatting down, inches from each other in the cool refreshing shade of the porch. I had just completed a main road and Sherry was molding curbs and drains. We both happened to look up at the same instant, and caught each other's eye. She smiled and from nowhere I made an subconscious move to bring our relationship to the next level. I farted. It raised our eyebrows, and more than a little dust.
Now this was not your run-of-the-mill rip. No, this was a perfect playback of the NBC Peacock jingle, exhibiting flawless three chord progression in a smooth melodic flow. It was "suave". If Dean Martin were to let one go, it would not have sounded so polished. As the air of future celebrity surrounded us, I detected a tear in Sherry's eye. This was ground-breaking, earth-shaking, and wind-breaking at its finest. I had achieved greatness, and she was there to witness and partake of the glory. Word, like everything else, spread fast. Kids (even older kids, like second and third graders) came from three to four houses away to congratulate me and to shake my hand, uttering praises like "gifted" and "was that for real?" While Ed Sullivan featured countless novelty acts, it was apparent that talent of this caliber was in short supply. Perhaps my Mom could call the Ted Mack Amateur Hour to book an audition. I'd be on my way! However, Moms don't really see eye to eye with kids on show business. Or gas. No one else in the neighborhood ever came close to matching my prowess. Oh yeah, there was one kid who claimed to have done a rendition of "Three Blind Mice", but he was exposed as a cheat and a fraud for doing it in three separate toots.
It saddens me to say I was never able duplicate my moment of glory. I had blown my fifteen minutes of fame way too early in my life. At least someone I cared deeply about was there to share. Oh, Sherry...
