Whether the Weather

He's on the left with the red tie, looking up toward the heavens.

Dude and his 2nd grade compadres have been working hard learning songs about weather since school started.  We've been jamming to sounds of tornadoes, humidity blues, summer heat and whether the weatherman says for months.  Our child loves weather and singing equally, so you can imagine his glee over the combination.  However, as the day of his performances drew closer, nerves set in.  He could not talk about it without curling up into a nervous ball and saying he's going to faint on stage when he has to say his line ("And if the breeze becomes a gale, all aboard it's time to sail.") We offered many recommendations for ways he can get through that 3.3 seconds, all to no avail.  I began to worry about what might transpire on stage.  He was in cold sweats just pondering the moment he stepped up to the mic.

The day before the play, he woke up with a jolt, ran to our room and informed us that his brain figured it out.  He had a solution to his anxiety.  We stared at him, hoping he was being serious and had an appropriate solution that wouldn't involve running off the stage, playing dead or asking us to join him at the mic.  His solution was beautiful.  He would close his eyes when he said his line and then open them again to walk back to the stands.  It was that simple.  Anxiety squashed and excitement began to build.  We were hopeful.

Squirt and I sat in the back of the cafeteria for the school performance during the afternoon.  I located my Dude on the left hand side, three rows up, right next to the music teacher.  That was intentional so he could look to her for moral support if need be.  No support needed. My son was a rock star up there.  He did the gestures for each song with absolute gusto and went so far as to add saxophone motions where he felt they would be appropriate.  Dude sang to his heart's content and as he approached the mic, his eyes closed, he said his line clearly and smoothly and went back to his position on the bleachers.

This may sound ridiculous, but I wept like a baby sitting in the back of that elementary school cafeteria.  I was a wet, slobbering mess and it felt so good.  My little man was up there, sensory overload and all, defeating his nerves and enjoying life to the fullest.  All on his own.  He didn't need me to walk him through it, but boy was he joyful as he sprinted toward me after it was all said and done, asking if he did so good.  You would have thought he just finished his first Broadway performance the way I reacted to him, but that's kind of what it felt like to me.  And to him I suspect. I was a proud Mama.  The night performance went just as smoothly, but I was able to hold it together for that one.  Tim beamed, ear to ear, the entire 30 minutes.  Proud Dad. That night, during prayer time, Dude said, "Dear God, thank you for making me so brave in the play and doing a great job." Enough said.

 They all have artwork displayed in the lobby to admire after the play.