Friday was my son's Arbor Day presentation on local hero, Luther Burbank. I suspect that Luther Burbank is not a household name in other parts of the country, but around here, it's all Burbank, all the time.

When I arrived at the classroom door, I discovered that the class was still rehearsing under the direction of a substitute teacher. Not just any sub, either... today, they had a gruff older gentleman who was having trouble keeping the kids focused. The kids had been working on the presentation for a solid week. They all wore hats that looked like Shasta Daisies, and sat in a semi-circle, standing when it was their turn to recite a line. Or, that's how it was supposed to go.

The parents streamed into the classroom when the doors were opened, and perched gingerly on the pint-sized chairs.

"Alright, Ben. You stand up and say your line now."

"mumble, mumble, mumble"

"Try it again, Ben. Louder."

"mumble, mumble BURBANK POTATO! mumble."

"Okay, Suzy, your turn.

"Woofah Boobank devewuped wots of stuffs."

The substitute rolled his eyes and stage whispered: "Suzy, that's not your line. Your line is..."

Suzy's eyes flew open and she shouted "Oh! Woofah Boobank devewuped a stwahbewy twee! Whew!"

All the parents sighed and tittered, appreciating Suzy's cuteness. The substitute scowled at the assembled parents, and the show plodded on. After a few more lines, Billy lost it. He just started giggling and giggling. He recognized that he shouldn't, but with that mirth that just won't stop bubbling to the surface, he spluttered and wiggled in place.

The sub turned to him and announced "Billy, if you can't get yourself under control, you'll have to leave the circle." Billy pinched his nose and turned as red as a tomato trying to stop laughing. The parents were all trying to keep the smiles to a minimum, so as not to encourage any hilarity.

"Alright, Billy. It's your line."

Billy shot to his feet, and stood swaying, body quaking with silent laughter. He opened his mouth to say his line, and a giggle escaped. He closed his eyes and closed his mouth. His nostrils flared with the effort to get himself under control. With a shaking voice, he began.

"The strawberries tasted...tasted...tasted..." he collapsed in a snorting heap of helpless guffaws on the floor. "Horrible!" he shouted from the floor.

The sub began to move towards Billy. Before he got two steps, all the kids started chanting "Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!" and the adults just lost it. We were all laughing so hard tears were streaming down our faces, while the sub stood in the center of the room just fuming.

"I'm a propeller-head!" yelled one of the kids, spinning his Shasta Daisy petals on his headband. "The strawberries tasted like poop!" shouted another kid. "Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!"

The teacher's aide finally restored order by banging on the chimes and ordering everyone to open ears and close mouths. It was hard to say who looked more chastened, the rosy faced kids, or their beaming parents. The last few lines were read. My son did a fantastic job with his little line. Afterwards, we were served a paper plate of Burbank-themed foods, consisting of soggy french fries "Burbank Potatoes!" and nopales "Spineless Cactus!" with a runny squirt of catsup.

I don't know if Woofah Boobank had anything to do with the catsup. I was too busy laughing at the propeller heads to find out.