Participating Parents

When you’re a parent, some things come along in your child’s life that take you from just being a casual observer to a fully active participant.  You see yourself mature and, dare I say, become the adult in the relationship.  If you had parents that were involved in your upbringing you can thank them for your attentiveness in your child’s life.  And your child will thank you (maybe, someday – or you may just see it applied when they have their own children and your words come from their mouths) for being the involved parent.

Calling it concerned might be a stretch, maybe nosey would be a better description as to why I jumped in with both feet even before my child was born.  I was fascinated and intrigued with every aspect of having a child.  The camaraderie and friendships I have come to know and trust (and the ones I haven’t) were built on the common grounds of child raising.  The constant need to be always in close proximity to a restroom and the ability to carry your child’s multiple changes of dry clothing, diapers, snacks, drinks and toys along with balancing your own sanity, scheduling play dates, making meals for your family and continuing to be somewhat alluring (even if it is in your own mind) is a bit of a challenge (what people who have more than one child do is beyond me) and a gentle reminder that you are the “mom”.

I now have a decade of knowledge and know-how under my belt.  As my child has advanced through the elementary grades, so have I.  There have always been the duties of class mom with the chocolate chip cookies I have baked, warm and rushed straight to the classroom, for special treats.  I have mastered the copier, the laminator and the school phone system.  I have broken in the principal (or has he broken me?) and have learned to work with the system.  I thought I could handle anything that was thrown to me – I was wrong.

Along came my son’s wish to participate in a community variety show.  A stage with lights, cameras and action! I had seen the previous years’ shows, admired and envied the talent and costumes that sparkled from the performers – never thinking about the hard work that went into making it look so easy.  I was about to find out.

How fortunate my child was chosen for a two-second stand out performance as Peter Pan.  He needed garments worthy of the feat and the usual fallback of purchasing at the thrift store was not an option.  I had to make it – as in, buy a pattern, find the proper material and accoutrements, dust off the sewing machine (remember how to fill the bobbin and thread the darn thing) and make, from hand, his attire for his stage debut.  If I didn’t remember my mom doing the same thing for me (something about Little Bo Peep, but I am not going there) I may have procrastinated a bit.  But knowing if my mom did it, so would I, I cranked up the machine and sewed fastidiously for two days.  The costume, complete with sleeves that measure almost the same, facing that sticks up only a little and grommets that the lady from WalMart helped me with, my son will make quite the fine character for his part. 

Twenty one dollars and thirty three cents is a small price that a parent pays that enables a child an event that he can store away in his vast reservoir of trivia, to be pulled out when needed.  The cost is priceless to surprise a child that the ole’ mom has “it” and a whole pool of talent that surfaces when the situation arises. 

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-