As I struggled to restrain myself from standing up on my bench and cheering loudly, catcalling in typical college fashion, I realized, in my near giddy excitement, that this is what it must feel like.
I’m a parent now, in every sense of the word, except for the fact that these kids aren’t mine. And I know now, Mom and Dad, what it feels like, to be so proud you wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I literally felt like I was about to die with pride. It was emanating from me in palpable waves so strong and so tangibly pungent, I felt like I could have knocked people out. And I had to stop myself from leaning over to Russian and Cambodian and Vietnamese parents alike and asking proudly, “Which one is yours?” because I wouldn’t have been able to adequately account for a response somewhere along the lines of “that’s nice, she’s a dear… yeah they’re all mine.”
Life International School’s Annual Christmas Spectacular, a name I just gave it – the performance of a lifetime. And I really don’t know how to explain it in any better way than the one I already mentioned, that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Grade 2, with teacher Glory, that’s my class! Those are myyyyyy kids!! We’ve been helping out as teachers assistants more or less for the past two weeks, and somehow someway I got hooked. I became invested to the point of obsession, well past teacher and into Father, friend, the guy who helps with subtraction problems and tells kids how to spell words like ‘five’ and ‘cup’ and ‘policeman’ over and over again, who teaches goofy songs and lets kids jump on him at recess, who lets kids go to the bathroom only when it isn’t disruptive, and who takes charge when Glory needs a few minutes to just take care of some things, who plays memory and makes the kids bracelets and prays for them every night.
We got here ten minutes late, after being caught in the rain, and I stood at the back of the open air chapel hall searching frantically for my kids – and all of a sudden one of them saw me and turned around and stood up, and in a second the whole class was following suit, beaming in excitement, waving to me across the crowded rows of parents. While we watched the first half, they kept turning around in their seats and waving wildly. And now here I am, snapping picture after picture, beating my way to the front of the aisles to get a better view, helping Marc, half French half Cambodian, tie his sash and Stepan, the quiet Ukrainian I always see picking something out of his mouth making the most egregious faces, get his tunic over his head. I tuck in Hannah’s skirt to her white angel costume unashamedly, and help untie Janarrat’s bandana. I make sure the sheep are in place and wish Sonalees good luck, who looks so pretty during her solo. I give Lysa a high five and pat Jedidia on the back as they rush to take their places, and I straighten Kakkada’s crown. And all of a sudden they’re on stage and the music is playing, and the girls are dancing, and Ryan, with the most wonderful mullet you’ve ever seen, is proudly holding the star up as high as he can, rocking back and forth. And Chyanne, the only white girl in the class besides the two Russians, is as benign and unassuming as a Mary’s ever been, and Makara joins the ranks as one of the very few Cambodian Josephs ever cast. And Li Hung’s frilly shoes stand out like Christmas lights, and I beam in pride as the girls turn and their skirts flag out and they all look like ballerinas. And I find myself at the edge of the stage in rapt attention, snapping the same picture over and over again, looking to my right and to my left and finding myself surrounded by equally absorbed parents doing the same.
And it’s all over so fast, and at the same time I realize that I don’t remember anything that just happened, and that I’ll never forget it. And the kids come bouncing off the stage with smiles as bright as the sun, and I literally have to fight back tears as I start collecting costume pieces, congratulating the kids, my kids, on the most wonderful nativity scene Away in a Manger dance number I’ve ever seen. And I catch the crowns of the wise men and start draping sashes over my shoulder, and I collect the sheep cutouts, and I make sure every one finds their spots again. And as I run back I find my heart racing a million miles an hour, and I find myself suddenly angry, that people don’t feel this way about their kids all the time. And I look at the short time I’ve known them, only two weeks, and I think about how much I’ve fallen in love with them, and how much they somehow care to trust me, and I think about the Christmas cards I’ve gotten, and the little gifts here and there, the smiles of the kids as we played the most simple games, and I think about all the parents who have missed their kids perform at these things over the years. These stupid performances and these pointless Christmas programs, these painful little concerts and horrendous dance recitals. I think about how stupid they are, and I think that if I were a parent, I would never miss a second of any of them, not for the entire world. I can’t think of anything more important.
I’ve been struggling with a lot of pride over the months, but not like this. Pride is one thing, but being proud… I haven’t felt proud like this, proud of my kids, for doing nothing but being my kids, to this degree ever, in my entire life. And let’s be honest, this was no Radio City Rockettes Christmas Spectacular, this was little Soknay’s first Christmas on a stage without peeing her pants, and the longest Juha’s ever gone without hitting anyone, and tiny Hannah’s time to shine as the front and center dancer, and Sonalees’ big solo opportunity, and a record setting time for Jonathon not to ask to go to the bathroom. And they could have all goofed around the whole time and not sung a single darn word, and lifted up their skirts unlady like and run around the stage like animals – and I still would have been just as proud. Just to be their Dad, and them just to be my kids, and for that to be enough of an occasion to rally the troops, and break out the cameras, and beam with excitement to the people sitting next to you, that those are myyyyy kids.
I don’t get it. I really don’t, I don’t know how I felt that much in such a short afternoon. But I felt it, and I see now what it means, just to get one more glimpse into the life of a parent, and to see things a little more clearly, that God’s up there right now beaming with pride at all of us, His children, running around doing exactly what we were created for, and that that’s enough – us just being His kids.
Love,
Danny
