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The McPhee Imagination: “Tell Me, Where is the Shepherd?”
By
Greg (Gregoriancant)
“Hey, Katharine….it’s me, your best friend, Kasey. Come on over here and join me under the dining room table while your mom works with that student in the living room. It’s been a few weeks since we did that last—and we always have fun listening together whenever she works with her students, don’t we?”
“Hi, Kasey! This is Katharine. Ok, I’ll be there in a minute. Mom’s introducing me to this new student of hers first. And she’s telling me that this student was invited with a bunch of her other students to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me at my sixth birthday party next week.”
I think that’s how the dialogue went that day when I was just about to turn six. I’d always spent time under that table more or less alone when mom had her music lessons with students. Now the friend I created in my mind, Kasey, was inviting me under there. He was just a literal teddy bear, of course—but was as real to me as any other real person. It’s really odd tapping into that time period again…especially when I feel so much different now as I’m about to turn 18. I graduated from high school a few months ago and feel the pressures of being an adult, various issues I’m currently grappling with, and getting ready for college. All that means any thought I was talking to teddy bears and spending time under our family dining room table to hear students sing seems miles away from where I am now. Actually, I wish I could regain that sense of imagination that I had when I was five and six. Maybe I will somewhere down the road when I can get through some of the things I’ve been going through lately.
That day with Kasey still has so much meaning to me somehow:
“I’m glad you’re here with me now. But, wow, I wish you wouldn’t leave me under this table for too long. Your pet dog almost chewed me up earlier when he suspected there was more to me than just a stuffed animal. And then that carpet freshener your housecleaner uses makes me itchy…”, Kasey said in a knowing way to me that I instantly understood. I watched mom’s sense of humor in her cabaret shows, and I really picked up on sophisticated comedy early.
“Do you think Adriana might join us sometime soon?” I asked, while just then wondering why my sister and I did everything else together except spend time in this little imaginative realm on days I was stuck indoors.
“I think your imagination is a little different. She might not get why you’re spending time under here,” Kasey said to me in a way that continued to make him a teddy bear philosopher par excellence.
“I don’t know why I’m attracted to those singers mom brings in here. Adriana’s probably smart not to spend time listening to people struggling to hit certain notes while mom patiently helps them. But there’s something about those songs mom plays and teaches…”
“And that’s all we’re going to talk about here in our little environment. No bringing up Michael Jackson, New Kids on the Block or Paula Abdul’s latest hit until we’re at least back in your room.”
This was March of 1990—and I listened to some contemporary pop from the time period. But The Great American Songbook was everywhere in my household—all from the result of mom’s influence…and some from dad too. I was instantly attracted to that sound more than any other. Or maybe it was attracted to me, I don’t know for sure. When you’re a kid with an overactive imagination, hearing music in your home that doesn’t sound right with the times probably helps enhance some aspects of the brain that don’t usually get activated when you’re a little kid.
“Ha ha…listen to that, Kasey. Can you hear Mrs. Sandstrom trying to hit that high note for mom on that one song called…um…’Somewhere, Someone…’”
“’Someone To Watch Over Me?’ Yes, that’s a beautiful George Gershwin song, isn’t it? I put a lot of heart into that song myself—because I seem to live those lyrics to some degree. But I bet you could hit that note yourself. I’ve seen the videos your dad made of you putting on those little singing shows with the microphone.”
“Oh, that’s so embarrassing you saw those. But I think I may want to be a singer when I grow up. It’s either that or being a vete…veta…vete-rin-arian…so I can take care of you and people like you.”
“I notice you just said ‘people.’ I appreciate you saying that, Katharine. We teddy bears don’t want to always fall under the ‘just a teddy bear’ persona.”
“Hey, do you think I could attempt that note Mrs. Sandstrom couldn’t hit?”
“Well, sure…give it a try. We have to get busy and step up our activity somehow while we’re down here.”
I didn’t really know where to even start on approaching that note. So I just started mimicking Mrs. Sandstrom instead. In my mind, it sounded just like Mrs. Sandstrom doing a complete octave scale starting at middle C. To mom and Mrs. Sandstrom—it probably sounded like some wild bird had somehow gotten into the house, flown under the dining room table and had just been caught by the family cat.
“Oh no…I don’t hear your mom or Mrs. Sandstrom talking any more. You must have scared them with what you just did,” said Kasey in a worried tone that our little world might start heading back closer to reality rather than tilting back to our usual deep imaginative realms.
“Katharine, was that you?” Mom said while walking into the dining area and not quite being able to see me because of the tablecloth hanging down enough to conceal me and Kasey.
I was afraid to answer—because it would instantly take my own little environment away from me to the way I wanted it to be. Instead, I just stuck my head out so mom could see me…and I waved to her with a little cute smile. I could see mom just starting to laugh…with Mrs. Sandstrom, who came walking up behind her, looking curious…yet appalled.
“I though