My daughter’s elementary school held a talent show last week. She attends a wonderful experiential public (thank you, thank you, City of Asheville) school that de-emphasizes competition–so there were 76 acts! Although auditions were required to check for family content and time (three minutes max), any child with the gumption to get up there was allowed her moment in the spotlight. And each and every child was incredible. No stage fright as far as I could tell, just boldness, courage, and the conviction that the 300ish audience members would send the love (which we did). As far as Drew and I were concerned, the highlight of the show was an adorable Kindergartener who sang and shook her tush to “Buttercup, baby.” You know–”Why do you build me up, build me up, buttercup, baby, just to let me down, let me down, mess me around.” We were laughing and crying at the same time. Until I had my own kids, I was fairly disinterested in children. Now all it takes is an off-key rendition of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” sung by two fourth graders to reduce me to mush.
So, what happens in adolescence to rob us of the uninhibited boldness that each and every kid in the talent show shared in spades? Where do we learn to be scared, self-conscious, unsure of ourselves? Is it the natural result of maturity and hormones or a cultural spiritual crushing? And, most importantly, how are Drew and I going to navigate our way through the mire of supporting two people as they grow up? Hmmmm, now I’m scared–time to escape into my fantasy life for a few hours.
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