The Vowles talent show was Thursday, and I did not want to take the boys. I was running late at work, and still had so many things to accomplish before taking a long weekend.
But I had promised Sam we'd go, and although he wasn't a performer this year (2 years ago he played the recorder, but since hasn't gotten an act together), he talked of little else the whole week.
Sam's talent show performance 2 years ago.
We sat in the back, a necessary placement with an active toddler, and as we waited I tried to temper my impatience with the sit down/stand up/crawl around/scream/inexplicable sticky hands that come with 2-years-old.
I can't believe I almost missed it.
The first performer on stage was a girl in Sam's grade, a girl he's known since kindergarten.
"Good evening," she said politely and formally, "I am going to be singing 'Somewhere over the Rainbow."
Oliver, who before had been fidgeting and cross, stood still in front of his seat. The music began, and he began swaying back and forth to the melody on tip toes to see the performance.
Sam, who had watched the talent show dress rehearsal earlier in the week at school, leaned over to me. "She's really good," he whispered earnestly, and then leaned back in his seat to listen.
The girl belted out the familiar tune, sweet and high, and when it was over Sam stood up, clapping and cheering, while his little brother laughed and clapped along. Throughout the crowd, I could hear other students cheering and murmuring in approval.
My heart swelled. When do we lose that overwhelming support of our peers? The simple joy in watching a friend try their best and share what's in their heart? When do we start snickering in the back of karaoke bars, wondering just who someone thinks they are, performing publicly with a voice like that. When do we start judging so many dreams pursued, because they may be risky?
There is so much more I have to learn from my children; more , I would guess, then I have to teach them.
Act after act bravely marched on stage, these little people, so sure of their ability and their right to share it, fearless and lovely. And every audience member supportive, not an eye roll in sight.
It dawned on me, watching my own children acting as good citizens should, polite and supportive and kind, that one of the most important jobs I have a parent it to preserve this innocence, this open acceptance, for as long as possible.
Sam glanced at me, then did a double take.
"Are you crying?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
I wiped away a tear. "Shhh. nope. Just enjoying the show," I whispered.
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