Story and I have a lot in common: we love stories, we laugh obnoxiously loudly at our own jokes, we can sleep hard anywhere anytime, we take great pleasure in a good argument, and so on. However, there is one way in which we are complete opposites. I have always been amazed by, and perhaps a little envious of, her nonchalance at taking the stage. She has been the center of her play for as long as I can remember. Yet, it never ceases to astound me.
This Wednesday, she and her bestie, Reagan, are going to audition for a talent show at school. When she first told me of her plan, my body reacted immediately: nausea. There is absolutely no way I would ever, then or now, volunteer to get up in front of people and do anything. But Story and Reagan are planning to alternate singing verses of a song while the other beatboxes.
Folks, I’ve watched the rehearsals (which aren’t many because they think — nay, know — they are awesome naturally). Oh my. I want so badly to discourage them from doing this. I tell myself it is because I want to protect them. But is it really? Or am I projecting my fears onto them? In my terror, I can only imagine the scene ending in embarrassment. And that is unnecessary embarrassment certainly. A good mom would gently put a stop to this, right?
Of course I am going to let her audition. And it is truly an audition. Not all acts are chosen to perform. Story does not lose gracefully. (We’re working on it.) She may very well not make it. We discussed this possibility, and she just shrugged and said, “Then we’ll just try again next year.” We’ll see how it actually goes.
Jealousy and fear aside, I am proud of her and so thankful that she is different from me in this way. She takes and owns that stage if only for a few minutes.