You'll have to pardon me this morning, I'm still reeling.
Just as an encounter with kindness at the right moment can soothe your spirit, an encounter with cold indifference can scorch your heart.
My son had to quit the school Christmas play this morning because the rehearsal schedule has become too demanding.
Now, as parents, we don't usually condone or allow quitting, but quitting is when you have agreed to do something and then refuse. My son never agreed to this rehearsal schedule; actually, at no time, has the music teacher revealed the rehearsal schedule more than a day or two in advance. I believe expecting 9 and 10 year olds to miss 3 recesses and lunch hours a week for rehearsal -- for months on end -- is wildly unreasonable. Bear in mind, most of these kids, like my son, have 2 lines and then proceed to stand on their mark for the duration of the concert. While I am sure it will be wonderful, Broadway it is not. I thought the point of a school play was to kindle, in children, an interest and enthusiasm for the performing arts; to encourage them toward music and participation, not to provide the teacher a stage to live out her career frustrations to the detriment of the children.
Because these rehearsals deprive my son of any break between his morning and afternoon classes, he is beginning to struggle with his afternoon classes and admits he cannot concentrate after having no break in his day. (No talking or recreation of any kind is allowed during these rehearsals.) I spoke with the music teacher yesterday regarding the difficulties my son is having; she informed me that my son was free to quit. When I asked her how she could so easily replace him if all these rehearsals were so vital, she explained that she had plenty of understudies. (Talk about delusions of grandeur!) So cold she was . . . I pity her that.
So after a couple hours of discussion and tears last night, my son decided he would rather return to his school routine than continue with this rehearsal schedule. All his enthusiasm, all his dedication, all his hard work squandered for a music teacher's confused priorities. I, myself, am still reeling from watching my son suffer with the realization that either option is a painful one. He's only 9.
Your heart never hurts quite like it does when your child hurts.
I just kissed him goodbye this morning, and wished him a good day, knowing his heart was heavy and hurt.
I will get on with my day now, re-inspired in my mission to create a warm, safe, happy home . . . with lots of Christmas cheer. My little boy will come to a home with Christmas trees shining, stockings hung, and whatever wonderfulness I can accomplish during these hours.
Wishing you all a joyful day.