One of my most and least favorite occasions as a child were school programs.  I remember many but the preparation for one in particular stands out in my mind.  I was given the task of choosing a poem to recite for the program.  I dragged out our trusty Best Loved Poems of the American People  and flipped to the "Faith and Inspiration" section.  I found a poem that fit the bill of being "religious enough".  Pastor Phillips approved the poem and I memorized it.

I tried out my recitation on dad first.  Imagine this in a very VERY sing-song tone.

The Cross Was His Own

They borrowed a bed to lay His head
When Christ the Lord came down;
They borrowed the ass in the mountain pass
For him to ride to town;
But the crown that He wore and the Cross that He bore
Were his own----
The Cross was His own!

He borrowed the bread when the crowd He fed
On the grassy mountain side,
He borrowed the dish of broken fish
With which He satisfied.
But the crown that He wore and the Cross that He bore
Were his own----
The Cross was His own!

He borrowed the ship in which to sit
To teach the multitudes;
He borrowed a nest in which to rest----
He had never a home so rude;
But the crown that He wore and the Cross that He bore
Were His own----
The Cross was His own!

He borrowed a room on His way to the tomb
The passover lamb to eat:
They borrowed a cave for Him a grave,
They borrowed a winding sheet.
But the Crown that he wore and the Cross that He bore
Were his own----
The Cross was His own.

~~Unknown

Dad, bless his artistic, perfectionistic, ever-lovin' hearts, immediately gave me a lesson in how to recite poetry.  However, the way he did it wasn't to take the poem I'd just recited and correct each line. Instead, he flipped a few pages in my book and read, with proper emotion and inflection, The Face on the Barroom Floor.  I can still hear his voice, which now sounds to my mind very much like Christopher Plummer, "... ahh not one that daubed on bricks and wood, but an artist (with a slight roll on the "r") and for my age was rated pretty good."  I do not exaggerate when I say I developed a passion for excellent poetry recitation that night.  I spent hours in my room learning how to avoid awkward pauses and leave important ones.  I don't know if I ever thanked Dad for that.  If I didn't, Thank you dad.  It is something that still gives me great pleasure.

I think it's time to include poetry recitation in the kids' schooling.  Yep.