Do The Hillary Russian Dossier Do

A day in the life of a 6th grade boy in 1972 (a scary short story) 
Nothing was more terrifying to this 12-year-old boy back in 1972 than the angst leading up to 6th grade "music" class when the crazy old bag teacher made us square dance.

I was a rail-thin introvert with a funny mop of untamed black hair. I was an ok student. Not great, but ok. I would slink down in my chair and made every attempt to stay invisible during the school day, least-wise until the final bell when I would race to my patrolboy post a few blocks away, buckling the bright fluorescent orange belt with sash. I never lost one walker my entire patrolboy career.

Duties fulfilled, I would race home to do my paper route so I could finish in time to watch Lost in Space on television. Oh, Penny! You can jaywalk by my patrol post any day! Then back outside to either ride my bike (apple red with the black, banana seat and tall sissy bar) or play street hockey or football with the fellas until dark.

DID I MENTION the thing about the Square dancing yet? I did? I still don't like to think about it. All kidding aside, this was cruel and unusually punishment and torture administered on an awkward pre-teen boy.

I respected authority, and respected my elders (as most of us did back in those days I suspect - unlike today). I didn't WANT to defy a teacher, but I was given no real choice. Either Square dance when its your turn, or to the principal's office and a call to my parents. I went with "B". I was sure my parents would side with me over this unfair dichotomy! My dad was a Flint cop who would know criminal injustice perpetrated by this evil state-controlled public elementary school administration against a defenseless student (me), and my mom loved me and wouldn't want me to come to this harm, would she?

Boy, did I ever misjudge their reaction. My mom thought the square dancing thingy was cute, and she was horrified that I defied the teacher. My father left most things domestic to my mother, so no help there. The next day found me on stage during "music" class, quietly sobbing as I did the "Dosey do" and the "allemande left" or whatever that dude was chanting on the scratchy record, LOCKING ELBOWS with the girls and skipping in circles - catching cooties and narrowly avoiding purposefully launching myself into the void off the edge of the auditorium stage .

I still sometimes vault upright in bed, awakened by memories of this nightmare, breathing heavily, sweat soaking my sheets... an inadvertent release of bladder not suffered since childhood. to this day I won't dance at a wedding reception or anywhere else its expected.

THE END

P.S. -I was reminded of this childhood horror with the whole Hillary Clinton story in the news, and how her campaign actually funded the fake Russian dossier on Trump. For some reason, the word "dossier" made me keep thinking "Dosey do", and I was immediately transported back in time.

...and voia', my own square dance was born, with a touch of the Hokey Pokey and just a pinch of The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Enjoy. Or be horrified.

Do The Hillary Russian Dossier Do

Caller:
Bow to your partner (Putin), bow to your corner, Soros and the DNC-funded Fusion
All join hands and circle left, you circle way out wide,
Fusion Collusion confusion
They'll never know we lied!

Dosier do your corner, 
Dosier do your partner

Putin your left cankle in,
Putin your left cankle out.
Putin your left cankle in,
and you shake it all about.
You dodge imaginary sniper fire 
from the Bosnians all about
Fake news to create Trump doubts.

Dosier do your corner, 
Dosier do your partner

Now join hands with the media and Promenade
you take a little walk 'cause it's ninety in the shade.
Chicken's in the main stream media picking out dough.
Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no.

Dosier do your corner, 
Dosier do your partner.