Oh Say Can You Sing?!

"Gólya vagyok." Literally translated, it means "I am a stork."

Put into context, though, it better means I am an uninitiated freshman. Today, I learned that first-hand.

Gaines was the first to figure out, hundreds of kilometers away, that today has something to do with storks, in schools all across Hungary. In Mezobereny, they also make the newest members of the high school wear pajamas.

I had heard nothing of the sort until yesterday, when 7A began telling me stories, in German, about what they would have to do today. I understood storks and aerobics. Only because they were gesticulating.

When I got to school today, I thought I was late, as there were hundreds of kids milling around the front gates. Nope, turns out the walk to school today would just include a gauntlet.

I dodged the first set of pranksters, then realized that new teachers were subject to the same games as were the kids. One girl threw a homemade paper necklace around my neck, complete with a pacifier at the bottom. Gólya vagyok, it read. The second heckler was a boy with a plastic sack. I hopped in, at his urging, and finished my commute with a minute-long potato-sack hop. The third gag was a gaggle of girl, complete with lipstick tubes. With careful penmanship -- not their lips, mind you -- they drew a G for golya and a heart on my cheeks.

The fourth stop was the chicken. A real live chicken. They keep them as edible pets in these parts, but I'm not used to that kind of fun. Do they bite? Do they peck? Do they claw? Do the chickens have large talons? I refused to pick it up, as the kids insisted, rather stood next to it and said, "I love you, chicken" in English for a digital camera.

The fifth step was a giant game of twister, except with a spider web above. Wonderful, wonderful fun, and there are good pictures, too. By this time, 7:50, almost all the students had gathered in the main lobby - a large open corridor that extends upward three stories with open balconies.

Academics, today, took a back seat to the gigantic sound system in the main lobby. Before school, and between every class, a DJ spun fun music. In large part, it was spectacular.

I tried explaining homecoming to a class of ninth-graders. Then I tried with a bunch of seventh-graders. It didn't work, so I cancelled the remaining three classes I had. All three classes were with 11th graders, the kids entrusted with planning the day, and it didn't seem feasible. I didn't feel bad about it, instead I smiled and said, "Hungary."

During first and second period they made the new kids dance. Between second and third period they made them sing. Between third and fourth period they blindfolded the poor kids and made them eat mystery substances. (Eerily akin to me sitting in front of a Hungarian menu.)

But between fourth and fifth periods, our 30 minute lunch break, not a single student left for lunch. Everyone packed onto the main lobby and the balconies. 7A started with their aerobics show, set to the song "I like to move it, move it!" They were a hit. 9B followed, to mild applause. 9D was a bit better in performance. It turns out, though, that they were saving the big guns for the grand finale.

The other new teacher burst out into the stage-like clearing and started twirling a baton. I cannot twirl a baton. And that's when I was grabbed from behind. It was one of my German students, he waved me down the stairs. A path cleared towards the stage. An English teacher whispered, "My students would like you to sing the national hymn!" Uhh, anthem? The national anthem? "Yes, yes, please go!"

I walked out. I was wearing my solar system shirt under a blazer. The announcer cried out "Tanar Jeremi!" I walked out, somewhat confidently, and waved. The children roared. "Blah blah blah Hungarian blah blah AMERIKAI HIMNUS!" the announcer shouted, they roared again.

"Szia sztok," I said with a smile and wave, offering a plural hello in Hungarian. They liked it. They hushed, in eager anticipation. There was nothing I could do but start.

"Oooh, say can you see?" I asked in sung verse. I'm not sure they could see. Probably ten people in the school could understand those words. I heard the nervousness in my voice, I'm not sure if they could.

"...by the dawn's early light." I gasped for breath. My voice was echoing nicely in the cavernous three-story hall. The kids were listening much better than in class.

"What so proudly we hailed..." I sang with a broad smile now. I hit the "prou-," the highest note I would have to sing on my shortened version, the apex, the climax.

"...at the twilights' last gleaming." I took a breath. I had no idea what comes next. So I made them laugh.

"Shatebi, shatebi." I deadpanned. It's Hungarian for etcetera. They liked it. They roared again. Things began to look up for my recording career.

"Oh say does that star-spangled banner yeeeeeet waaaaaaave?" I sang, with voice wavering just enough to make it vaguely musical. Deep breath for big finale.

"O'er the laaaand of the free?" I held it out. I was beginning to enjoy this shit.

"And the home of the brave." Wow.