The Singing Skunk

It was a serious tactical error on my part to trade roles with Jean Jeffrey in our second grade play.  I started to suspect this the moment I did it, got the full impact of it both during rehearsals and right after the performance, and still felt the aftershocks for years afterward.  For the rest of my tenure in the Fayetteville-Manlius School District, I blamed an inordinate share of my peer troubles on that one bad decision:

Mrs. Nevin:  Karen, you and Jean may trade parts if you like.
Jean (quickly): I want to be Peter Rabbit!
Karen (reluctantly): I want to be the skunk.

Peter Rabbit and Sweetie Phew were the second and third leads, respectively, in a rather jumbled musical adaptation of Snow White.  I don't even remember whether there were any dwarfs in it.  Peter, despite the name, was basically a Thumper character, and Sweetie Phew was Flower with a persecution complex.

The skunk was a much more interesting and, to my way of thinking, likeable character than the rabbit.  And besides, Peter was a boy's name.  I didn't want to be teased for playing a boy rabbit. So, partly because I liked the role better and partly to curry favor with Jean, I agreed to the switch. I don't think Jean appreciated the favor.  As for myself, I was in trouble. Even as I said the words that sealed my fate, alarm bells were going off in my head.  A skunk?  Are you mad?  Everybody hates skunks!  Besides, it rhymes with Funk!

I did it anyway.  The last line of my introductory song was maudlin but meaningful to me:

"My story ends/I have no friends."

In the course of the play, Pete the rabbit and Bill (whatever he was) have enough of a character arc to ensure that Sweetie's social position is much improved by the reprise:

"I offer clothespins, but each shakes his head;
Bill holds his nose; Pete smiles instead.
Dear Snow White made all things right.
My story ends,
Now I have friends."

It shouldn't surprise you a bit that life didn't imitate art in this case.  I had just paved the way for a rather obvious taunt that continued for years afterwards:

"Funk the Skunk is a pile of junk!"

with variations.  "Flunk the Skunk" got some use, as did "Funk is a Skunk!"

I wish I could say that I successfully laughed this off, made lots of friends with my great self-confidence and adroit social skills, and ended up popular, happy and well-adjusted.  Um, no.

Was it because of that second grade role that I was still being teased by high school?  Of course not.  Being shy, smart and fat is a recipe for social disaster, which I didn't know how to overcome.  Sweetie Phew didn't help, but ultimately, it was my responsibility to learn to get along with the other kids, and take some teasing without being crushed by it. I've been looking at my high school yearbook recently, and to the extent that I even remember them, most of those kids were all right. I should have cultivated more friendships instead of shying away and nursing old wounds.

It wasn't until college that I came into my own.  Even now, married a quarter of a century, an A student, with a number of minor successes behind me to bolster my confidence, the oversensitivity that kept me from laughing off a school play is always lurking, ready to jump out at me.  "Nobody commented on the Skwok piece!  Nobody likes it!  Nobody likes me any more!" And similar nonsense.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  Get over it.  I'm trying!  This is the reason I include my maiden name in my byline instead of just calling myself Karen Blocher.  Having suffered for that name, I figure I've earned the right to use it.  It's part of who I am: a woman who, forty years ago in the Manlius Elementary cafetorium, chose to play a skunk in Snow White.

Karen Funk Blocher