Show and Tell

When I was in grammar school, first grade, every Wednesday, we’d have Show and Tell. Generally, I was shy, sensitive and embarrassed very easy, so I never went in front of the class, and showed anything off unless my interest was piqued, and I had something of extraordinary importance and value to share with my fellow classmates. One time, I showed a one-million year old shark’s tooth that my Daddy found in a spring-fed creek that ran along his own back yard in Gainesville, Florida, when he was a little boy! All my friends were impressed with that, because that tooth was so big, it took both of my hands to carry it, and Daddy said: ‘...that it was probably as ancient as any dinosaur, that it was prehistoric, (whatever that meant), and it was so old, it had fossilized, and turned to stone!’ My teacher, Miss Smith was impressed with that. She liked old things.

After spending the weekend with Pee Paw and Mee Maw, my maternal grandparents, I learned a new song. Mee Maw, who was an avid guitar player, taught it to me. She loved to teach me new things. She taught me neat card games—like the one she called Black Jack 21, she told me it would help me with my addition skills. Mee Maw also taught me how to Charleston and Jitterbug, and this weekend she taught me an old Chuck Berry song. I loved it, and danced and sang while she played on her guitar: “When I was just an itty-bitty boy, my gramma gave me a brand-new toy. Silver bells, on a string, she tole me it was my ding-a-ling. My ding-a-ling, my ding-a-ling, won’t you play with my ding-a-ling?” I even had my own ding-a-ling! I felt important! I actually had something of significance to share for Show and Tell. I was so excited! I could hardly wait for Wednesday to come, because I had a song in my heart, and I had something to share. I wanted everyone to see my ding-a ling!

Wednesday finally came and when it was my turn, I shot out of my seat like a bullet, and went to the front of the room. Miss Smith asked me, quite surprised at my unusual display of eagerness, ‘Well, young, Miss JoAnna, what will you share with us on this special Show and Tell day? Miss Smith knew today was special, because I was sharing very valuable with the class, otherwise, I would not Show and Tell, nor would I be wearing a dress, so in my best, grown up, young- lady voice, I answered: ‘A song.’ I said to the class proudly, standing tall and looking around with bated anticipation: ‘Today, I will show you my ding-a-ling!’ Laughter boomed in the classroom like an unfriendly cannon. What was happening? Why were my classmates laughing? Miss Smith reminded the class to be courteous, and I resumed my sharing.

I gingerly took my ding-a-ling out of its purple, silky pouch and caressed it. The roundness of the bells soothed me, and I began to sing: ‘When I was just an itty-bitty boy, my gramma gave me a brand-new toy. Silver bells, on a string, she tole me it was my ding-a-ling. (Laughter) My ding-a ling, (Laughter) my ding-a-ling, (Laughter) won’t you play with my ding-a-ling? (More Laughter…)’ I was quite upset, on the verge of tears, and suddenly, Robbie Burnsides blurted out: ‘JoAnna, you can’t have a ding-a-ling. You can’t play with one. You’re not a boy!’ By then, the tears were flowing out of my eyes with tsunami strength. I was even more upset and hurt as if my Daddy had spanked me! I did not understand why I could not have a ding-a-ling. Miss Smith, who thought I was being a fresh-mouthed and vulgar, show-off, took me outside, and looked me in the eye. My teacher asked me if I knew what a ding-a-ling was. Stuttering, and gasping for air, in between the tears, I stammered: ‘Ss-i-lver b-b-eh-ls on a-a s-s-t-t-ring.’, not even questioning the fact. She said, ‘No! A ding-a-ling is a little boy’s private parts. Please do not call your toy that. That is dirty and nasty.’

I froze. My ding-a-ling was not dirty, and not nasty. I knew that. Why didn’t anyone else? Everybody was supposed to know boy’s ‘ding-a-ling’s’ were actually either called ‘penises’ or ‘boy’s private’s’ if they ‘weren’t man enough to call them penises’, as they said in my family, but a ‘ding-a ling?’ Who ever heard of such rubbish? A ‘Ding-A-Ling’ was Chuck Berry: The Cultural Icon of Cool, daddy-o... Fill your Coolerator with TV Dinners and Ginger-Ales, (if you were old enough, spike the ginger-ale with whiskey, and make it a highball, do it for Pee Paw’s sake. A few years later, Mee Maw taught me to make one of the best... ) Sit back and play your guitar and shake your Ding-A-Ling. That was the way they did things in my family. At any rate, I was made to feel ashamed of something innocent, presented in an innocent manner. It didn’t matter, because Mee Maw taught me to hold my head high, and to continue marching to my own beat, or to play by my rules, no matter what. I still relished in singing the song with Mee Maw, and delighted in playing with my ding-a-ling every chance I got. I never did Show and Tell again, as I found out you could only ‘Tell’ what people wanted to hear... but, I did want to show them a swell card game Mee Maw taught me after that 21 game, it was to help me with my counting skills. I think that game was called Five Card Stud.