Dad's perspective - Thoughts on CSDA Dance Recital 2010

Every year, right before recital, I bring out this old rambling write-up I did a few years ago and repost it to facebook. I shared it with some of my MFP friends and one of them suggested I post it to the forums...so anyhow, here it is. There are two pictures that accompanied the original post that I have uploaded to my profile...(obviously, the two of a dance recital). Anyhow, here it is...



Repost of Thoughts on CSDA Dance Recital 2010

(Almost time for another year once again. Eventually, I'll dust this off, refine, and develop some of these thoughts...but until then, I'll just keep refreshing this link each year.)

From 2010:
Some thoughts on this past weekend before I forget:

This past weekend both my daughter (8) and youngest son (5) danced in the CSDA Dance Recital. It was my third year to help backstage. Again this year, as I've done in the previous (almost)-two years, I worked as the "Stage Manager." The title seems like a little bit of an exaggeration, but it's easier to say than "guy who tells the sound room when to turn on the lights and start the music"...oh, and "guy who shines flashlight between curtains after each dance so they know where they can safely exit without running into the next group getting ready to go on". It can be as chaotic as herding cats...or trying to sort butterflies by color...(but the real herding and sorting job is done by the parents...okay, moms...that get them to and from the dressing room and off-stage, a job I've titled as "Handlers".) It isn't that I'm in this position because I'm good at it...well, okay, I *am* good at it, but that isn't the reason. The reason is because three years ago when I first volunteered to help as a parent, I was unaware of the fact that the request for "parent" volunteers was probably more accurately a request for "mom" volunteers. When at the recital, I realized very quickly that there were places I clearly could go and places I clearly should not go...but a whole lot of places in between where it wasn't real clear. It was...awkward. About halfway into the recital, Amanda (at the time, a student-instructor) was desperately looking for a parent to take over the headset duties because she was in an upcoming dance but still needed to keep everything moving smoothly until and after then. I gladly accepted that new role, because it meant I had a defined spot where I was supposed to be...and since I was just barely off stage, I was in a place where any "quick changers" at least had to consider their surroundings first.

So why even volunteer? For starters, the alternative is just sitting in the auditorium for 7+ hours over the weekend just watching. Beyond that, my wife and I have always been active in our kids' activities. We've learned (mostly by accident) that if you volunteer when they're young, it's less weird for them when they get to that age where they're supposed to tell everyone they don't want their parents around because it isn't cool. But this one goes even deeper. How can I tell my son that it's okay for him to be the only boy in the recital, but that his dad isn't going to volunteer to help because that's just for moms?

One of the most important parts of my role is to know (or at least sense) that they are actually ready. They make their way on-stage in almost complete darkness, take their positions, and remain still patiently waiting for the lights and the music to begin. That's the idea, at least. Often, my commentary to the control room was something like "...and if they'd stop moving around...almost....okay maybe....I think.....no, still moving...okay, *ready go*." That was the phrase I used for them to know to bring up the lights and start the music: "ready go". Not just "ready", lest it be confused with me asking someone if they were "ready", and not just "go" in case I was telling someone to "go" somewhere, but always "ready go". In between "ready go's", we entertained ourselves with running commentary on the dances, the audience, the temperature, the music, or some other random thought...always mindful that what we said may be broadcast into the dressing rooms. (Last year, I was unaware of this little detail.)

One of my favorite aspects of this role is the unique perspective of pictures I'm able to take from just off-stage (but only of my own children because otherwise that's just creepy. I don't even take out the camera unless my own kids are back there). But there are also insights that can't be caught in a picture. Like seeing a dancer in tears over her solo performance, but pulling herself together like flipping a switch because she's in a large group immediately after. Or one who completely forgets her dance and leaves the stage just thirty seconds in. When asked if she wants to start again, she takes a deep breath and says very confidently, "yes". "Lights down, queue that one up again. Okay, ready go."

It isn't all tears though. When some dancers exit the stage momentarily (this time, as part of their choreography), many get high-fives and compliments from those in an upcoming dance before going back on-stage, always (or almost always) right on queue...at least when they aren't narrowly avoiding running into the others. (This would be an important part of my "herding cats", especially keeping the waiting little ones far enough back.) And then there are those who while waiting offstage, do their own dance out of sight of the audience. My theory on this is that they've danced to that particular song before in a previous year. It's the only theory I have for how two on opposite sides of the stage are doing the same thing.

On Friday, the mom on the other end of the headset was a parent with a girl in the same group as my daughter. They danced to "Dance with my Father". Are you kidding me? I kept it together, but had to tell her Tom Hanks-style, "Are you crying? There's no crying. There's no crying in dance!"

I am not one of those touchy-feely guys. Don't believe anyone who says otherwise. (C'mon, I'm a tax accountant...it's against our professional code to be touchy-feely.) I don't believe that how kids feel about things like school is more important than learning the material. Self-esteem is good, but that is a by-product of actual results, not the goal itself. I believe that you should keep score at sporting events and there is a winner and a loser. Learning to be a good loser or good winner is valuable. And I don't tell people they did a "good job" if they didn't. Sure, I usually try to be tactful about it; I may tell them "good try" or "you'll get 'm next time", but I don't tell them "good job" if it is more accurately described as a "good effort". If I say "good job", I really mean, "good job."

Throughout the weekend, I told every one of them (or at least every one I could) as they exited the stage, "good job". It usually started as "good job, girls", but those large groups had me sounding like a flight attendant "buh-byeing" passengers at the end of a flight..."good job, good job, good job..." (Oh, and there was one "good job, little buddy" and a few "good job, sweetheart...I love you too"...for my own kids, of course.) I meant it every time I said it. Not because I can even pretend that I have the ability or knowledge to tell a "good" dance from a "not good" one, especially given my corridor-like vantage point, but because I meant "good job...good job to have the courage to go out there in front of hundreds of people and do what most everyone else doesn't feel comfortable doing in the privacy of their own homes". Whether four years old or eighteen or somewhere in between, that takes some...well, courage.

Probably most amazing to me are those closer to four (although there's probably an argument that it really is tougher for the older ones). My favorite non-daughter/son moment for me was as I was holding the flashlight over the youngest group of "baby ballet" telling each of them "good job" as they exited the stage between the curtains. One of the smallest stopped, looked up at me (or more accurately, up into the blinding "spotlight" of my flashlight), and responded more sincerely than I've ever heard a four year old say anything before, "thank you". However adorable your mental picture of this, it probably isn't even close to how adorable it actually was.

To my daughter and son, I am so very proud of both of you. I pray that the courage you both had to step out on that stage stays with you and that it gives you confidence, especially later in life when you feel alone and when others may not be as supportive...(and B, they may even tell you that boys don't dance, they just play tee-ball...you can tell them yes they do, and that there are "dance dads" too). Fortunately, I'm glad that you're still rehearsing for that dance known as life on your own...but I know that eventually, inevitably sooner than I'll be ready for it, the time will come for you to make your way on-stage, to take your place in the darkness, and to be still, confidently waiting for your turn to shine...


...and I'll say, "Okay. Ready. Go."