My son Logan, always more in common with Dad. Does so much with him. I get to do very little with him alone these days. Boo hoo. This boy doesn’t listen to me.
Yes, I feel sorry for myself sometimes.
But not this morning.
Enter Logan last night at 8 pm. “Oh, don’t forget the talent show is tomorrow!”
“But you’re not doing anything in it, you told us!” Dad says.
“Oh, but I am! I’m a stage hand!”
This boy chose what he wanted to do. Or perhaps his teacher, apparently with much foresight, did. In either case, he wowed us.
He bobbed and weaved and was right there, in the nick of time, placing and removing chairs and music stands. Helping Chris with his upright bass and bow. Thank goodness he did not try to swing the bow like a sword. He knows better! Adjusting the mike. And never leaving anything behind or done halfway.
All I could remember, as I snapped shot after shot, tears streaming, that his dad and I both turned blue in the face, trying to convince Logan he should sing, or dance, or act, or be funny on stage. Because he can do those things so well! Why is he so shy? He proved to me he could decide for himself where he fit in, what his strengths are, and his role, something he does with finesse; and as back stage hand, he demonstrated to me that he chooses well and knows himself. He wasn’t being lazy; this was the hardest job. Remembering what to bring out or remove and when … what other 11-year-old could do that with aplomb? And spoken as the true career advisor that I guess I am now, this is a very marketable skill. Furniture mover, if not rock roadie!
As I sat with the future talents, watching the comedy and dance, hearing the singing and music, the girl waiting behind me bumped her violin. It woke me to the fact that this boy, MY boy, DOES listen to me. He IS me.
Who is the one who can organize and keep things together, all very quickly and at a NYC pace? Who can gather up an infant and an 11-year-old, bleary eyed early on a Sunday morning to get out the door for a 7 a.m. swim meet, or pack up the whole crew for a last-minute trip out of town? Who can get everyone out the door in less than an hour daily, without skipping breakfast and brushing? Who can mentally and sometimes physically bob and weave in and out of kitchen traffic, not only cleaning but cooking and straightening, while checking to see if the baby soiled and if the laundry is done, when company is over? Yeah, gymnastics girls! I can bend. I can’t always get back up without assistance, but I can still bend! All while playing a round or two of Words With Friends.
I’m not bragging but I’ve been told I multi-task well. I'd like to think it comes from within. But it may come from being the middle child. Or from growing up a Manhattanite. My former boss, Lisa, RIP, once said, “If you want something done yesterday, ask Paula.” And apparently, I’ve taught my son that skill, too. The skill of fast and strategic organization. Except he plays Infinity Blade on his iPad as he takes out the trash, not WWF.
"A round of applause for everyone!" Mrs. Crisafulli, principal, said at the end. “And how about the ones you didn’t see, those stage hands? They did a lot of hard work; very good job!” In reality, Mrs. C., the stage hands were the most visible; on stage more frequently!
“Whoooo!” shouts a crazy woman in the back. Yes, the back. Me.
As I think I said, I am from NYC. You don’t like my “Whoooo”, you can move.