Singing the Praises of Goofiness

This weekend, Harp had a choral performance with the Oakland Youth Chorus. It's a big production, a coming together of many schools, ages and grade levels. I cried every time she sang. I wonder why we cry at these things. It's a little embarrassing. My mom was there and I noticed her wiping her face as well. Marching down the aisle of the big hall, taking their places under bright lights, they become bigger. It's like sending them out into the real world, seeing them separate from yourself - real people doing real things, instead of asking for more juice or another story.

It's also pride; knowing that you haven't screwed them up so much that they can't stand in front of four hundred people and sing under bright lights. You see exactly who they are under pressure. One little girl barely knew the words, but was bouncing happily to the music, in time. Another tapped her foot rhythmically to the beat, alternating back and forth with happy concentration. One little boy standing just behind Harp was enjoying himself more than almost any other. He was swaying and swinging his hands and clearly marching to the beat of his own drummer. This clearly offended my girl, who had definite opinions about the way to do things correctly - swaying and swinging were not in the program. She would glance behind her with a look of disbelief, even disdain at his departure from the prescribed movements.

But you know, the mavericks are the kids who are most interesting to watch - the kids who aren't wound too tightly. In the winter concert, a little girl wore a brightly colored scarf, totally against dress code policy, and proceeded to swirl it and play with it throughout the performance. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. No one could; she was marvelously entertaining. Different and animated. Another girl kept popping on and off the stage and running into the audience, unable to contain herself long enough for Supercalifragilisticexpialidoscious to finish. I mean, who could?

But watching my very contained, very proper girl up there made me think. I'm totally driving her individuality into the ground. She's scared to step out - to be different. She didn't look like she was having any fun up there. And Mary Poppins is fun, dammit? I want her to have fun, to be carefree. But I would probably never have let her bring a brightly colored scarf with her on stage. I tow the line, so she'll tow the line. It's all a little depressing, honestly. To see what kind of effects you have on your kids, while innocently following your own programming. Really, this is my great great grandmother's fault, isn't it? As much as I try to be mindful - to give her room to breathe, I get the feeling like she'll be just like me. Not so bad - I know, but I want more for her. I want her to be relaxed, not just look it. And up on stage, glaring daggers at that goofy kid behind her gave proof through the night that my girl is not relaxed. I gotta give the kid a scarf next time.