As I sit in the audience, my stomach churns, watching my children participate in a recital. Today, the teacher is selecting names from a green bowl to decide the order in which students will perform on the piano or violin. It’s not the first time this month I’ve found myself in this position, feeling a mix of pride, anxiety, and apprehension. My sons have faced challenges this month: first, a spelling bee, and now a piano recital. Each time, it’s the same struggle for me to hold back my own fears while supporting them.
When my son Ethan triumphed in his class spelling bee and moved on to the school-wide competition, I followed his lead. We practiced the extensive word list only when he initiated it. I focused our discussions on how to manage the disappointment of a misspelled word. Deep down, I secretly hoped he would win, though I never voiced those thoughts. Ethan has a knack for surprises.
On the day of the spelling bee, he was surprisingly composed. All participants had practiced on stage the day before, making the event less daunting. Yet, as I signed in as a visitor, I felt a wave of nausea. How could the other parents be so calm? My little boy was about to face hundreds of spectators!
As the competition unfolded, Ethan confidently approached the microphone. Being the shortest contestant, he stood on his tiptoes to be heard clearly—adorable and nerve-wracking at the same time. I felt a slight relief as he continued until the pronouncer called out: “Nostalgia.” His face dropped; he had never encountered that word before. Instantly, guilt washed over me—we hadn’t practiced that one. He spelled it out, fully aware he was wrong, and walked off stage. He maintained his composure until he reached me, where he broke down in tears.
Meanwhile, my other son, Max, was gearing up for his own performance. He had two pieces to present and was visibly anxious, bouncing his knee and tapping the notes on his leg. My focus remained solely on him, and I could hardly enjoy the other performances, my stomach in knots. I recalled my own experiences on stage, trying to block out the audience while fixating on the keys in front of me.
Finally, it was Max’s turn. He began with “Jingle Bells,” hitting a wrong note but persisting without hesitation. Next, he played “Clair de Lune,” a piece he had chosen himself. His performance was nothing short of spectacular—better than I had ever heard him play at home. He played with speed, grace, and clarity, making me beam with pride.
While I once thought performing was daunting for me, I now realize that watching my children on stage is even more intense. All I can do is prepare them, and then they astonish me, growing and evolving in ways I had never imagined. I strive to suppress my fears and insecurities, wanting them to shine while I watch with trepidation as they pursue their dreams. I hope to encourage their growth without passing on my anxieties. For now, I keep Tic Tacs and Dentyne Ice handy to manage my nerves.
In summary, witnessing my children take the stage evokes a complex blend of emotions—pride, fear, and awe. As they navigate their own paths, I remain supportive while grappling with my own insecurities. This journey of growth is a shared experience, and I hope to empower them as they continue to flourish.
Keyphrase: parenting fears during performances
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