Suffering through the Silent Night
It is mid-December, which means ‘tis the time of year for holiday concerts, programs and pageants. As the parents of two small kids, we have our dance cards full, so to speak, with a flurry of musical extravaganzas.
Watching your child stand on stage and sing songs he or she has been practicing for weeks, or even months, is heartwarming. There’s no denying it. Belle’s preschool show went off without much of a hitch. Unless you count one little girl dropping her jingle bells a total of eleventy trillion times a hitch. That girl, though, was not Belle, so I simply chuckled along with the rest of the audience as the bells dropped and were scooped up so many times I got seasick.
Milo did well in his holiday concert too. Once he finally stepped onto the risers, that is.
There is this Kindergarten teacher at his school, you see, who loves to sing. She loves to sing so much she somehow worked it so her all-adult chorale could croon for a half hour. At the beginning of the program. A program meant for parents to watch their kids, not to roll their eyes at silly grown-ups wearing egregiously ugly Christmas sweaters and singing Greensleeves.
Halfway through this elders rendition of a holiday show, small kids started to squirm. Parents tried to soothe and distract. The kids broke loose and ran in circles. Parents chased. And an unsquelchable murmur of protest rose up from the crowd.
Still, the chorale warbled on.
Finally (finally!) after sitting for two hours, through the torturous chorale’s playlist, other class’s songs, an Art teacher’s Power Point and random chit chat from the faculty, the first graders were led up to the stage.
Two quick ditties and they were outta there.
There wasn’t an untapped watch or unlined face in the crowd. For we had overtired kids to usher home, feed snacks (since they hadn’t eaten in hours) and wrestle into bed.
Next year you can bet I’ll be composing a short email to the school principal that will go something like this: If we want to listen to semi-talented fifty-somethings sing, we will head out to our nearest Victorian street corner and stand under lampposts while snow falls softly on our fur hats. But at a children’s school concert, please let the children do the performing.
Sincerely, One tired and cranky mom
