By Kevin Kling
One holiday Mary and I went to our niece's violin recital. Seven little girls in a row, ranging in ages from four to six, playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Almost immediately the bow of our niece got caught on one of the pigtails of the girl standing next to her. It would not pull free.
So she persevered, playing the entire piece with the head of the girl in pigtails whipping back and forth in time with the tune. Afterward, everyone agreed that our niece had a future in music.
As a collector of stories, I'm especially fond of the holidays. It's a heightened time when no matter the pre-planning or good intentions something always goes awry. As everyone knows these mishaps, mayhems and maladies make for the best stories.
We have one family story involving my grandparents. When they were newlyweds they asked the local preacher over for a holiday supper. This was during the time of Prohibition and my grandfather had recently made some homemade 'elixir' and it was in the basement in the process of 'getting good'. During the meal, some of the jars started to explode. Everyone, including the preacher, knew exactly what that sound meant. Without missing a beat my grandfather turned to my grandmother and said, "There going your peaches, Honey". "There go your peaches, Honey" is a catchphrase in my family ever since for when a situation has clearly gone off the rails.
One of my fondest memories falls in 1980. I was performing in England over the holidays and missing my family very much. To take my mind off of the homesickness I went to see a play called "The Dresser", starring Tom Courtenay and Albert Finney. It's about a friendship between two men and a ragtag group of performers in a London theater during World War II. The couple sitting next to me looked to be in their 80's and quite likely had served in the war or been subjected to the bombing raids that devastated London. As an air raid siren sounded in the play the man reached over and gripped my hand. When the bombs stopped he released, never looking over to me or acknowledging the gesture. Later on the entire audience sang together as the cast led us in "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square". Automatically everyone took hands and swayed back-and-forth. When the song ended, this time the man didn't let go of my hand and held it clear to the end of the play.
Kevin Kling’s plays have been produced in the Twin Cities and around the world. His collaborations with composer Victor Zupanc include For the Birds for Zeitgeist, The Burning Wisdom of Finn McCool with the Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra and, most recently, The Best Summer Ever for the Children’s Theatre Company. A frequent commentator for TPT’s Almanac, NPR and MPR’s All Things Considered, Kling was named the Minneapolis Story Laureate by then-Mayor R.T. Rybak in 2014. He grew up in Osseo, Minnesota, and graduated from Gustavus Adolphus College. More: kevinkling.com.