‘Daaaaad!”
‘Yes, bud?’
‘There’s a talent show at my school. I want to be in it.’
My heart immediately beamed with pride. My son wanted to showcase a talent—how cool is that? Will he sing? Play guitar? Juggle?
…hold the phone.
He doesn’t do any of those things. Does he even have a talent? (That sounded a lot harsher in my head than I meant it.)
‘That’s great, bud—but what do you want to do?’
‘I don’t want to do anything.’
‘Say that again?’
‘I want to be on the stage crew.’
‘That’s great!’ And honestly, my heart was still beaming. He wanted to help other kids shine. Set things up. Be part of something bigger than himself. He’s got a huge heart and a desire to help others.
He must get that from me.
So we showed up for practice the next day, and he walked me through his responsibilities:
- Set the microphone up. Take it down.
- Set the microphone up again. Take it down again. (There was… a lot of that.)
- Pass out props. Take props away.
- Help move a drum set to center stage.
- Not play the drums while moving them to center stage. (Important detail.)
He was going to be of three kids on the crew,, and honestly, it looked like fun. All the excitement of being on stage… with none of the pressure.
A true win-win.
There was another practice after that. He was noticeably less excited. (With good reason.) Apparently, setting a microphone up and taking it down loses its appeal after the 47th time.
The only requirement for the show? Wear black, so you blend into the background. So naturally, he wanted to wear his bright blue sweatshirt.
We compromised… By not compromising.
Black hoodie it was. My rationale? It had pockets for treatments. The blue one did not. (Can’t argue with that logic.)
We loaded up with supplies and headed to school.
And then, plot twist! The director had a job for me! She obviously saw my leadership skills and wanted to put them to good use.
The left side of the auditorium was reserved for performers, and my very important job?
Keep the performers quiet.
Or at least quieter.
Oddly enough, it was the perfect spot.
Owen would be on the opposite side of the stage, but from where I stood, I had a clear view behind the curtain.
And that’s when it hit me.
He was about to be in a position where I couldn’t easily step in if I needed to. My helicopter parent alarm started going off.
No quick “come here for a second.”
No casual sideline check.
With karate, with swimming—there’s always an opening.
Here… not so much.
I took a deep breath, and put my trust in the fact that he could handle himself. And that the chicken nuggets and fries with their fat content would do their job,
By the start of the show, he was flat with some cushion to give, (200 mg/dl.)
The first few performances went off without a hitch. You could tell Owen was nervous the first time he stepped out on stage—but that disappeared quickly.And what I saw next…
Well
It was the kind of moment that makes a parent feel like when their five-year-old loudly asks,
“Why is that man so big?” or announces to a quiet room,
“I have to poop.”
A pop song came on, mellow at first, but then fast, and Owen, who has apparently been hiding this from me his entire life…
Started dancing.
And not just a little head bob.
No. Full commitment.
He was on the side of the stage, absolutely shaking his thing as if her was one of Salt and Peppa’s dancers.
The parents in the audience had no idea. He was safely behind the curtain—but at just the right angle where the other parent volunteers and I had a perfect view.
That’s right.
Front-row seats to the show within the show.
And we were trying—desperately—not to laugh.
Each song, he got sillier. More confident. More… expressive. In all my years of being on the dance floor, I’ve never seen anyone combine a moonwalk with the Hammer Dance (MC Hammer, for those who remember)… but somehow, he did.
As she shed a tear from laughing, she whispered, ‘What a hidden talent!’
And I couldn’t tell if she meant the dancing, his ability to make people laugh, or his ability to drive me nuts.
Probably a toss-up.
The show wrapped up with all the performers coming on stage for a final group dance.
And who was the most animated one out there?
Of course.
Owen.
We drove home, and Owen had to roll the window down, his face flushed, still panting like he had just run the 400 meter dash.
His blood sugar?
131 mg/dL.
How about that? All that dancing… and he didn’t even sign up to perform. Maybe I’ll give it a try the next time I’m just under 200.
Without the Hammer Dance, I’m not as young as I used to be.