As parents, we treasure our children’s firsts. Their first word, their first step, their first day of school so we finally have six blessed hours without Disney, tea parties and requests to be wiped.
It’s some of the repeats we can do without.
Like band concerts.
And dance recitals.
And school plays.
My Love and I have attended four of these in the last month. That’s the average I expect for this time of the year for the next, oh, decade or so. Ten. More. Years.
On the plus side, enduring a couple hours at these events immediately improves my seasonal allergies and sinus pain. Children’s performances are like Benadryl injected directly into one’s artistic senses. It leaves you dull and drowsy but ultimately feeling better about your own limited ability to perform. Warning: Do not operate heavy machinery or karaoke machines while under the influence of this drug.
Listen, I think the Things are the most gifted and talented children in all of Uncool Nation. And I’m sure you think your kids have skills of near equal awesomeness. I bet they make you swell up with pride when they saw out “Mary Had a Little Lamb” like a little Itzhak Perlmans or they bust a move sweeter than Cheryl Burke no matter how inappropriate the song choice is for their age or gender:
(SIDENOTE: I might need to start a regular feature dedicated to performances of or to “My Sharona” by The Knack made in questionable taste.)
But, between you and me, everyone else’s kids … on the whole … they stink.
Ah, you agree.
Yet we endure. We sit through 4th graders butchering Miles Davis, 6-year-olds forgetting the words to “I’m a Little Teapot," and even worse. We do it because we know our children need our support. We sit there giving wickedly sharp elbow jabs to our spouses so they will stop playing with their cool new iPhones and force their eyes upon the stage because we remember our own parents having to do the same.
Yes, we remember how well our parents taught us.
Taught us about guilt, suffering and enduring pain.
Well played, you sneaky old evil geniuses, you. Well frickin’ played.