Stage Mother

by Patti


Last weekend S and Bella had their Black Friday Nutcracker preview performance - at the mall. Okay, first of all, going to the mall on a Black Friday has been against my personal law for pretty much ever. Never, ever have I been to the mall on a Black Friday, and never, ever did I intend to. Wrestling the angry pre-Thanksgiving mobs for the last bag of stuffing at the grocery store is enough torture to carry me through the year; I don't need another dose of retail hell a mere short few days later. Alas, I love my kid - obviously.

Shortly before the performance, S pulled me aside and told me she felt nervous. I gave her a squeeze and held her hands, and noticed they were clammy. Having performed on stage since I was 13-years old, I knew exactly what she meant. Oh, that feeling. The butterflies and chattery teeth and knees that knock... I've had it all. "Just have FUN", I told her. "Get lost in the moment..." Off she went, brave, spinning in her velvet costume, her sponge-rollered sausage curls bouncing joyfully.

Cathy and I decided to view the show from the catwalk above the area they would be performing, and we settled in among other moms and dads with their cameras and iPads and cell phones. I watched with pride, enjoying the fruition of all those hard hours of rehearsals. I also noticed that S seemed nervous. I know my kid, and I can tell when she's present and when she's freaking the fuck out. She was freaking the fuck out. After the run-through, we went down to greet our girls, and I took S by the hand and pulled her aside. "You did so good honey; did you have fun?"
"Yes."
"Did you feel nervous?"
"Yes, I messed up on some parts. I knew I was messing up, and I don't know why!"
Having experienced what it is like to be nervous; to not be present during something that should be fun; to overthink it all, I offered her some tips, and sent her on her way, as they were going to do another run-through.

I found Cathy sitting on a bench and I sat down next to her while we waited. She turned to me. "Were you just being a stage mother with S?"
Surely she was kidding? "What do you mean?"
"I saw you over there talking to her, telling her to smile and stuff."
"Oh....NO. She told me she was nervous so I was just telling her to have fun!"

We both turned back to the kids; but the words kept swirling in my head. Had I made a mistake? Was I becoming the classic case of the mother who lost her chance at glory, and was now pushing it on to her own kid?  Had I gone all Toddlers and Tiaras on my daughter? Was I that? The STAGE MOTHER? 

On the way home, I asked S. "Honey, does it bother you when I tell you things about performing? Do you feel like I am pushing you?"
S leaned forward emphatically from the backseat, "NO! Never! I love it when you tell me things; it makes me feel better. I LIKE knowing how I'm doing."
"Okay, but if you ever feel bad, or like I am putting pressure on you, I want you to tell me, okay?"
"Please, Mom; I'm serious. I like it. Because you are honest."

I thought about her words most of the day. I am honest; does that make it right for me to say what I feel, regardless? And I know I tend to be a perfectionist; critical. Does that make my perspective precise? Or unfair? I am professionally experienced in the performing arts. Does this mean that I should offer advice to my kid? Or do I let her find her own way? It's a fine line, building self-esteem and confidence. If I fail to be truthful, how will S ever know when I mean it? If I pump her full of false praise, how will she separate the genuine from the inflated? It is my job, as a mother, to raise my daughter up; to fill her with self-pride and a sense of accomplishment. At the same time, it is also my job to make sure she knows that, no matter what, the one place she will always be able to come for the truth is me.

I also want S to know, as she is developing her interests and passions and finding the paths that will define her life, that her choices are to be hers and hers alone. Although it is exciting to see S choose some of the same paths I chose, I want her to make those choices of her own volition; not because I "missed my chance".  You see it every day, the fanatical parents on the baseball field, the mothers competing with other mothers backstage, the fathers angrily shouting across the ice to their hockey players..... What may look like support by the parent is sometimes actually regret and loss cloaked in support, and the child is the second chance. S is not my second chance. S is her own first chance, her own fresh start. Although I know this, it never hurts to remind myself.

Take flight, little one.