Ah, my little performer. This past Saturday was my kid’s first recital type thing; he participates in a group class at school (that we pay extra for) called Bop & Bounce, which is supposed to be sort of like beginner gymnastics. With all his energy, I thought it would be great for him; also, he needs to learn to coordinate his crazy body; he is as clumsy as I am and dance helped that a lot for me, so I thought this might be a good thing for him.
He is, as you can see in the picture, the only boy. There are I think two other boys who take the class, but they did not come to the recital, who knows why. So he was the only one. The first group that went was all little ballerinas. They were so cute. Then another group of really little kids who were fun and didn’t really do anything they were supposed to, which can be expected; there were several boys in that group. Then was the D’s group. The teacher choreographed a little musical number for them. As with all the groups, there were at least 2 or 3 kids who just stood there, stock still, kind of shellshocked at the huge group of parents and other family members making up the audience in this little church basement where the performance was, but not my kid. After enthusiastically waving hi and blowing us kisses, he did the entire routine. After the song, they got out a mat and the teacher helped each child to do a somersault and a back bend; OH to have that spinal flexibility again! How I miss it! And they did a little “balance beam” type walk. It was all very cute.
I was fully prepared for D to completely clown off and misbehave through the whole thing; he is so much a comedian and loves when people pay attention to him, I just figured he wouldn’t be able to discipline himself enough amongst the chaos to actually do what the instructor said. Indeed, he was so excited that several times he was just jumping up and down, brown hair flying up and down, shorter already than all the girls, grinning and clapping his hands. But he did it. When he would look at me during the song, he would stop what he was doing so then I’d look at the teacher, to get him to look at her – she was leading them in the movements for the routine. OMG I am a stage mother, I thought. But really I’m not. Ok I did iron his little t-shirt, and his shorts, and if you think ironing really wrinkly, khaki cargo shorts in a size 3T is fun, you’re wrong.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep him in the class or not since it’s an added expense and I wasn’t really sure what he was getting out of it, if anything, but the recital convinced me to keep him in; I think the performance experience and coordinated physical activity will serve him well in life no matter what path he ends up choosing. The B&B teacher is pregnant so they won’t have any more classes until January, but maybe I can get him to work with me on another routine this summer.
I looked at him up there, and I thought, Jesus, what happened to my baby. He will be four in just a couple of weeks. How did this happen? Who is that energetic, jumping, crazy kid up there? The one who pauses and looks pensive when awaiting his turn for the spotlight?