I won't even deny it. I'm a bit of an exhibitionist.
But Grade 8 was my debut as a rock 'n' roller.
St. Andrew Junior High had a variety concert every year. It was meant to be a showcase of student and teacher talent ... you know, the usual stuff like singing and dancing and playing piano and stuff.
But that was the year of the art of lip syncing exploded. EXPLODED!
And thus, my friends and I collaborated to stage a performance of Nena's 99 Red Balloons, protesting the nuclear arms race and the Cold War.
The shop class helped us make our equipment, from a mic stand to a drum kit. The boys made me a bass guitar out of pressboard, spray painting it a brilliant, bright red.
I remember gasping when I saw it. They even ran wires down the neck to mock guitar strings.
Those four minutes were a brief moment in time and one of the few moments in which I've been able to unleash my inner rock star.
After all, I have no inclination to learn a musical instrument and the only time I can handle the sound of my voice is when the truck stereo is loud enough to drown me out.
I know I'm tone deaf. A friend from J-school, who was classically trained, told me as much one morning when I was croaking out whatever song was in my head.
I still think I sound exactly like Lita Ford, Madonna or whomever when I'm cruising down the highway, though.
Rock and roll, fellow babies!