It was a cold, snowy night—perfect for traipsing to the church beside my son’s school (which had graciously offered to host the holiday pageant, given the space constraints of the tiny, tiny gym) for the BIG NIGHT; the opening and final evening production in which my son was to play a decent-sized role. Not only did he have functioning wings and a speaking role with multiple lines, but he also had a rap song (surprise!)—which was only sung by about 5 or 6 termites.
Parents, sibling, grandparents, a cousin, a great-aunt, the Nana, and the main costume co-conspirator were all present and accounted for. Once again, Ant’s cheering section rivaled a crowd of pre-teen girls scouting down Justin Bieber at the back entrance of some venue, pre-concert.
I was flustered. Not only was it the second to last day of the semester at work, not only did we have relatives who had driven in from out of town—after a nasty winter storm the day before, no less—but I was the one in charge of gathering children and ensuring everyone was ready to go that evening. I was not my usual, attentive self.
Everyone was gathering their things and getting ready to head out to the performance. Suddenly I was aware of Ant, directly beside me, seemingly small—which is quite the feat, given who Ant is—and as I looked at him, I realized that this was one of three times I had seen him this way, vaguely concerned, brow furrowed, again—seeming very small.
Because my son is intuitive like that, and at that moment he knew that he had my attention where nothing else did-- plus, there was no one paying any attention to us-- Ant took the opportunity to ask me, in the lowest of voices, “What if I can’t do it?”
Now, this is where I have to express my surprise. If this question had come from K, I would have known exactly how to handle it. At this age, K was quiet, sensitive, and sometimes shy. One on one, or in small groups, he tended to find his own ground quickly and easily. In large groups, or in front of people, he became a little ball of nerves. In fact, during one of his ‘holiday’ concerts, K pulled the hoodie from his sweatshirt up over his head, and turned around. He spent the rest of the concert with his back turned to the crowd. He wanted to finish the performance and knowing himself as well as he did at that point, he knew the only way that was going to happen was if he chose to ignore the existence of the crowd.
Ant, however, is a completely different story. Ant feels comfortable around just about anyone. Ant invites people to see him play sports, perform, you name it! He had also had two dress rehearsals and the school performance of this pageant, with no hitches. Having Ant express concern or stage fright just wasn’t even on my radar that evening.
I started to pull out the old, “just picture them in their underwear” adage, but Ant stopped me in mid-sentence, and told me, “That’s just not going to work—I will end up laughing and ruining the whole thing.”
Well played, kiddo.
So I crouched down beside him, and asked, “What makes this one any different than the one’s you’ve done before?”
“Everyone who will be there that I don’t know,” he responded.
“Ah, I get it now,” I answered back. “Very understandable. Well, then I have to ask you, who do you want to see you perform the most?”
He considered this question for about five seconds. “You,” he decided.
“Then I would suggest that you just look at me. Find me in the crowd, and just perform to me. Don’t even pay attention to anyone else out there. They won’t even exist. That should fix it.” This pleased him immensely, and we went on with putting on coats, hats, etc.
When we dropped him off backstage, he turned around to look me over one more time—it was as if he was memorizing what I was wearing, to aid him in finding me in the crowd moments from then. We went to take our seats, leaving him with his teachers. Once seated, and realizing just how many people were going to cram themselves into this church to watch the show, I had a brief moment of panic for my child—on his behalf. Would he be able to find me in this sea of people? Would he realize that this is likely the biggest crowd he’s seen thus far? I didn’t know, but I figured that if I was, by some chance, channeling his stage fright/nerves—taking them as my own so that he did not have to feel this way, it was well worth it.
Seven classrooms full of elementary school-aged children filled the stage. I saw my son, center, back row (oh, I lived there for many years myself as the tallest in my grade—and it sucks) as he filed in with the rest. I could see his nerves, his reservation. He scanned the crowd and nothing. He took off his sunglasses, and scanned again. He searched and searched, until he found me. I don’t know whose relief was more pronounced—his or mine. I smiled big at him, and raised my eyebrows: “Are you alright?”
He shot me back the thumbs up sign.
The performance was the greatest thing I have seen in a long time. It was probably the best production I’ve seen at an elementary school. Of course, I am biased, but how can you resist a play with songs like, “A Christmas Infestation?” It was hit with everyone. Throughout—my son’s eyes stayed focused on me, and he did an excellent job.
Afterwards, as children ran to greet their families in the crowd and people slowly started to filter away for punch and cookies in the assembly hall (again, thanks to the wonderful church and community partners) Ant came up to us and took his family’s reviews with all the grace a seven year old boy can muster.
J, my father in law, and my step-father started giving us a hard time. They had been seated behind us, since one pew was not enough to hold all of us, and they teased me for thinking that Ant had been waving to me earlier. In fact, they had been standing up behind us, making a spectacle of themselves and trying to grab his attention.
Ant played along with the good natured teasing, admitting that he had seen them acting like idiots behind us—and us being completely unaware. But then, as he glanced back at me, and without anyone noticing but the two of us, he winked at me.
As for the wings—Ant was not a fan. He crumpled them up the first chance he got. Thank goodness pictures exist to document my labor, because that’s about all I will have of that!
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