Thanks Rach, and it is true!
A strange thing happened to me late last year at the local school prize giving and concert. I know many of you will be imagining that I am some kind of self-absorbed, uber-bitch who loathes children and only has horrid things to say; well, while this is true for the most part, I do also have a tender side. I’ll admit that it is well hidden, but it remains easily accessible and is capable of functioning fully if needed.
So anyway, on the final day of the school year 2009, I found myself the family delegate attending the end of year function at my stepson’s school. My partner was working, so it was time for me to step up. Given my affliction of pathological lateness I was seated second row from the back in the averagely sized community hall. I sat alone – well there were people around me, but I didn’t have a date as such. My lovely neighbour whom I kind of knew was seated behind me, but essentially I was by myself in the midst of a rather large, small community gathering. Now strange rituals occur in small communities when there is a new face on the scene. People smile a kind of knowing smile that says we see you and we are keeping an eye on you, but we’re not going to speak to you just yet. So I sat and returned the inquisitive smiles of the other parents with a rather timid, what I hoped was a not too desperate, please-sit-by-me, kind of lop-sided one of my own.
Anyway, the splendid spectacle that we were all there to witness began. Sweet-voiced princes and princesses sang and danced their merry little souls all over the stage, and we were entertained with a witty performance that delivered a serious conservation and positive recycling message. What is it about the voices of children singing that can bring the dead back to life? Truly the sound of angels! I glanced about at the faces of some of the parents and grandparents in the room; some of them looked as though they were going to pop with pride and joy at the sight of little Jimmy leaping about on stage pretending to be a piece of litter...the room was throbbing with warm fuzzies, and I turned and smiled my lop-sided smile at my nice neighbour behind me. You just can’t beat community spirit.
So, just as I was thinking I had run the gamut of positive emotions for the month, I recognised the small group of kids who were now cavorting about the stage as my stepson’s peers. Ah, I may get to see the little tyke in action I thought, despite being seated such a distance from the stage. I caught sight of a bobbing blonde head and thought, there he is. He was moving in unison with the other kids in a cooperative manner I found quite unbelievable. The teachers must have drugged him. He twirled and trilled and diligently created clever dance formations with the group and indeed appeared to be having a great time. When the movement stopped for a brief moment and singing their blessed little message to us all became the main focus of the scene, I observed my stepson scanning the room for the face of his Dad, and/or I presume, me. Propelled by my rusty maternal instincts, I rose slightly in my seat so my head stuck up higher than everyone else (never mind my nice neighbour behind me now...) so I could get a clear view of my stepson’s toothless grin. The stars must have been aligned, because at precisely that moment our eyes locked and his wee face lit up like a box of sparklers. The pride and happiness that shot down the hall knocked me back down in my seat, and took my breath away. My eyes welled up and my heart nearly burst with affection! See that nimble and cute blonde boy up there everyone – that’s my stepson!
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