Sixteen La-Las!

Mo had a vocal music concert tonight. And it was awesome.

Not to badmouth Em's vocal music teacher, I leave that duty to Em, but the Feebster is great at it. A true natural, one of the few teachers of this caliber I've ever seen and the only music teacher.



This isn't my first experience with him. Em had him a couple times, most recently last year. He's so good, in fact, my Dad asked me out of the blue one time about transferring Em back to this school so she could be in his classes again.

And unlike last year, when Mo was in shadow the whole time (they hadn't worked the kinks out of the new auditorium yet), this year she was plainly visible.



Anyway, I should have known better than to be surprised when Mo did more for the Feebster than I expected she could. He gets more out of all these kids than pretty much anyone else would.

I won't claim Mo followed along with the dance movements and sang the whole time, but she did do it quite a bit. And she came down front with five other kids and delivered her line on cue into the microphone. If you haven't had any experience with autistic kiddos, I couldn't have been more impressed if she had explained nuclear fusion.



One time awhile back, she told me on the weekend, 'Mr. Feeblecorn sixteen la-las!'

And sixteen la-las is the highest rank there is in Mo's hierarchy. The lowest being 'Hello boring. Boring, boring, boring!'

That latter ranking is what I give the asshole sitting behind me with the cell phone that went off three times during the show. Once would qualify him as an inconsiderate prick. Carrying a cell phone into a concert is as bad as carrying a bomb onto an airplane. Three times, words would fail me but Hello boring! Boring, boring boring!