Stage Mother.

I knew him Horatio!

It honestly never occurred to me that this would happen. I never thought that I would have a child who loved to be out in front, on the stage. For me, it's torture to be on stage in front of others. Even if I am doing something that I love and feel confident about. I just don't like it. This is not the case with Doodle, he is more comfortable being the center of attention than anyone else I know. Yesterday afternoon he made his stage debut in a delightful performance with 12 other children. Led by an incomparable musician/director and accompanied by some of the finest early musicians around. The children were lovely, well rehearsed and charming. The costumes superb, the musical choices a fine blend of the common and the obscure. It was really fun. At least it was fun for them. For me it was a tiny bit of torture.

I have never ( yes, NEVER) been as nervous as I was sitting in the audience chair yesterday. I have sung in front of hundreds of people, spoken to very large groups, I have delivered hard news and stopped performances cold. But I have never been so light headed and nauseous as I was watching Doodle take his first steps on to the stage. Watching him reach for words, and in one heart stopping moment, watch him search for a prop that was not there. It took the combined emotional energy of two of the strongest men I know to keep me in my seat. Every cell in my body wanted to rush the stage and carry my baby out of there. Here it was, the line he had worked so hard for, the moment he had anticipated with such joy. Gone. In heartbeat, he could not complete the mission and did not get to say the coveted line. I was heartbroken. Nearly in tears. Willing myself to stay calm, to not be that classic stage mother. Doodle's chin started to quiver, his director took his hand and said some apparently magic words. After a deep breath, he pushed his shoulders back and went on with the show. As his wise Uncle Seumas commented "there's some steel in there". Yep. That boy is made of strong stuff. The show continued, it was lively and quick, his next bits and lines went off without a hitch. And then in a moment of pure genius, and more grace than I could have managed he did his line, with prop, as a grande finale. The audience roared, the director beamed and I lost my mind. Those were the magic words from his director. " We'll do it at the end!"

After the show I pushed my way through the crowd to reach my boy, to console him. To make it better, I could offer ice cream? or cupcakes? Maybe new legos. A pony? A trip to Disneyland. Something, anything to take away the sting of lost lines and missing props. Maybe he would like a car? I got to the edge of the stage to whisk him away and dry his tears. Only he wasn't there. He was already off playing with his friends, reliving the best moments, singing their favourite songs. He was already in the adoring arms of well wishers, aunties, teachers, Grandpa's and friends. He. Was. Fine.


This nervousness, this horrifying inability to keep my hands from shaking, this crippling desire to crawl under the carpet was not about him at all. It was totally about me. As hard as I had tried to make this experience his it was still all about me ( for me anyway). I stayed out of rehearsal, I didn't linger or offer unsolicited advice. I have worked with hundreds of stage parents over the years and they run the gamut from completely disinterested to overbearing and rude. I was going to find the happy medium. I stayed out of it determined that this would be his project, not mine. And somehow all of that staying away was still all about me. I think that parenting is like that. We make decisions, for the children, what is best for the kids. But really those decisions are all about us. We make the decision that best fits what we think we should be feeling. Need to feel like a martyr? Turn down that dinner invite and say you have to be home. With the kids. Need to feel like a hero? Take all 25 classmates on an extravagant party/field trip. Decline help from other parents. Every decision we make is based in part at least on how it will make us feel. Parents are people first and I for one get in real trouble when I forget that.

So what did we do? We mingled, said our goodbyes and went for sushi with some of Doodle's favourite people. Followed by cupcakes. And new legos. While I collapsed on the couch, Doodle put together his new legos, humming tunes from the show and occasionally bursting into song. He really is fine. I am still filtering out the adrenaline and figuring out how to do it better next time. Maybe I should take my flask. I promise I'll save it for the end. And to all you stage parents out there, I have a new found respect. This is hard work!