About a year ago, maybe more, the kids hit on the idea of putting on a show for us. Whenever they could, they’d drag us to a couch, have us sit down, and then pretend they were the center of a show. They’d either grab something and pretend it was a microphone, or they’d just talk into their finger.
“Ladies and Gentleman! Boys and Girls! And Next Here Comes the Singing Show!”
Then they’d launch into whatever performance they wanted to do. Sometimes it wasn’t singing. Sometimes it was drumming or dancing. Occasionally, it would be a Lion King show (which involved a lot of growling and roaring).
The shows have tapered off lately, in favor of other sorts of play. Last month, however, N and I were playing trains in the living room when he suddenly decided that it was time for a show.
“Daddy, Daddy! Sit down! It’s time for the show! No, not there! There! Sit there!”
He was pointing to a stretch of living room floor. I sat down and waited. He started to do his announcement, and then broke off.
“You’re too close! You might get hurt. Move back! Back!”
He pointed to the kitchen. I obediently moved to the kitchen, pulling a chair around so I could sit in the doorway to the living room and watch his big show.
“You’re still too close! You might get hurt. You’re still too close!”
He ran over, took my hand, and walked me to a couch in the den.
“There you go. There. Now stay right there!”
Curious to see what was going to happen, I sat down and waited. I couldn’t see him from there. I couldn’t even hear him. After a few moments, I crept back to the living room to see what was happening.
He was playing quietly with his trains on the couch.
Stage fright. He must have gotten stage fright. That must have been it. Right?