Courage

Ok, I know.  You are on a cliffhanger, just aching to hear about my post about killing plants, and my views on gardens (complete sarcasm).  Well, you'll have to wait once more 'cuz today was a huge reminder in one of life's lessons c/o my daughter M.

Backtrack a bit.  M, is two years old, shortly to enter the world of 'three'.  Last month, we went to Disneyland, California.  She was under the weather.  Being conscientious of her age, we took her and her cousin on the more benign rides - the Tea Cups, Dumbo etc.  Our third ride:  we stood afoot the great spread of the "It's A Small World" white and silver castle and lined up.  Our little boat soon arrived and the three of us, her grandma, uncle and cousin climbed aboard, and in to the tunnel we sailed.  "It's a small world, after allllll...." ramped up the volume (etching it in to my brain to this day), the darkness engulfed us and the panic set in for my little girl.

We tried to reassure her.  She screeched.  We tried to shelter her.  She climbed my husband's head.  With fingers outstretched to me, to 'make it stop, my momma, dear God, make it stop', I held her in a tiny ball in my lap.  Thirteen minutes and twelve seconds to go... that damn ride is fifteen, skull-scraping minutes of creepy dolls, grinning from ear-to-ear while loudly taunting its helpless, boat-trapped victims.  What kind of place is this?!  Fifteen minutes.

So ensued the fear of the dark for my little girl.  She wouldn't even go in Mickey Mouse's waiting room in his cute little house because it was dark.  I pleaded with her to just give the musical live performance Aladdin, a chance (my entire family was there to see it).  She did, but when it started with the gigantic twelve-foot head of a lion with glowing, red eyes roaring and coming to life... that was the end of that.  She and I left.

We survived Disneyland.  We returned home.  She asked for lights on in the car on the ride home when darkness fell.  She asked for a nightlight in her room.  So when the ballet recital came up, I cringed.  She is, what I believe to be, a very reasonable child.  So if I ask her to try something, and I see courage given, I will respond with respect for her choice.  For her dress-rehearsal, I took her early to get settled, to get to know the stage, the audience, the type of performances etc.  I could see flashbacks of Aladdin streaking across her peach-like cheeks.  Horror in her eyes... but we watched... and she soon settled.  The lights were not completely down - whew!

The day of the recital drew near and I wondered how she would do.  We would take it as it came, as a family.  I clumsily applied as minimal makeup as I could (oi, I dislike doing makeup on a two year old - seems so ridiculously wrong).  Then my husband and the other ballet dad, stood before us delivering the news that her performance would be the last on the two hour program.  "What are they thinking?!?!  Having the little ones last?!"  My heart sunk.  No nap time, complete darkness, a full audience... I shook my head.  My stomach flip-flopped.  I looked at her and just gave her a hug.  As I tugged and pulled her hair in to the tiniest ballerina bun you have ever seen, I told her how it was all going to go down.  She should know (I always told her I would be straight with her - that if there were something I thought she might be afraid of, I would tell her and that we'd get through it together).  I could feel her little heart bear down, but we just kept on moving.  In to the auditorium we went.

We got inside, the lights fell completely dark.  I held my breath.  The audience was FULL.  She took it all in.  She squirmed in her chair, then on my lap, upon her daddy's lap.  She was doing well, but was expending a lot of energy dealing with the surroundings so I asked hubby to take her outside to run a bit. 

Intermission came and her auntie, cousin and grandpa arrived.  Her eyes lit up and she was SO excited to see them.  She explained to them that this was her final performance, her recital and helped to escort them towards their seats.  It meant the world to her just that they came.  It just gave her that extra boost of excitement to outweigh her nerves.

I lead her to the backstage holding and amongst the hundred or so performers all done up in their elegant costumes, I asked if she was good.  Without looking at me, she responded "I'm good my momma."  She touched my cheek and delved in to the colouring book her teacher gave her.   "Does that mean she is 'GOOD', or that she is struggling?!...  what do I do?"  Her teacher kicked me out.   I backed away, hesitating to leave her... Listen to instincts...  I did - I returned audience-side.

Fifteen or so dance numbers went by.  Her music came on with a surprise, as they were scheduled to be the very last, but they were pulled up.  Out came the little bundles of yellow, pink and white tulle, lead by their teacher.  The teacher 'blew' all the ballerinas away from the hoola-hoop like dandelion fluff from a stem.  Away M went, running free across the length of the stage - her sweetness, her love of music, her energy, just out there for everyone to see.  ...Then she came upstage to the front as the other girls continued running... Her toes close to the edge, knees bend, butt out and elbows back, she strained forwards, facing the hundreds in the audience squinting her eyes in to the darkness "WHERE'S MY MOMMA?" she said... (looking, looking, looking...)  You're damn rights I waved!  I need to ask her if she did see me, but regardless, off she went again rejoining her class and before you could say "aww" they were taking their bows.  M helped the teacher with her prop, carried it off stage, the last little ballerina to exit, and that was that.  I melted like a pat of butter in a frying pan.  Speechless.

I asked her tonight how she felt being up there.  She responded, "I was nervous.  A little bit nervous, but I was brave, momma...  It felt good".

Why the hell am I posting this?  Am I just a proud mom?  Yes, I am.  But at the same time, I saw something today that I will never forget for as long as I live; a huge reminder in courage.  In the past couple of weeks, I've seen M struggle, fight, and falter.  Today, she broke through all of that with such mindful courage and just fully expressed herself and had fun up there on that stage.  We all go through life sometimes having the pants scared off us.  From her little world, one experience terrorized her, others validated it... but today, she mustered all the courage she could to be with her leotard gang, and she did it, looking the darkness and all those eyes front and centre.

If she can do it, so can I, and so can you.  May you find great courage in your day!