A Lesson Too Far
November 6, 2009 · Activities | Influences | Suburban Survival
How much organized activity is too much?
Parenting, Not Pushing, Really
You’d think that the dramatic arts pro who directs our Youth Theater could put on an act, like she’s not wondering if I’m another pain-in-the-ass pushy stage parent.
But just look at Thespia’s face. It shows so vividly I feel it myself: Sinking sensation. Disappointment. Weariness. I, too, wonder how much of a nuisance this guy will be.
Except I'm the guy.
And all I did was ask about getting Girl Child some sessions with a voice teacher to coach her for her solo number (every kid gets one) in the show they’re rehearsing.
What would be stage dad about that?
Thespia eye-locks me and speaks in the hypnotic tone used by paid professionals to keep idiots from destroying their children.
Fine, she says, try a voice lesson, but no pressure if it doesn’t click.
Like I was going to withhold food, maybe Taser my own child.
To be fair to Thespia, she must see too much of parenting’s dark side. And she doesn’t know the whole story.
The voice teacher lives just four houses down. When we moved in, she introduced herself right after RoboNeighbor next door.
I thought it was so cool, cultural enrichment right out the front door. Special here, or what? Maybe it isn’t as dull as it looks…
So the voice teacher means much. The rest of the deal is that Girl Child doesn’t know the words to her solo, and I worry about possible trauma if she bonks onstage. Extra practice with a third party could help.
Good Dad, not Pushy Dad. Get it?
But all fall I’ve been getting milder shots of what Thespia gave me.
It happens when I talk about GC’s after-school schedule. The day before theater she swims at the Y. Ballet comes the day after, with more ballet on Saturday. Some Sundays we’ve got rehearsals for the winter ballet show.
Pre-GC, I would have thought such a load – for a six-year-old! – was abominable.
But it’s more like practical work-at-home parenting.
I want additional keyboard time after 3 pm, and GC couldn’t stand school after-care last year, so I subbed in activities and between-time coverage with a sitter.
GC loves it all. Thrives, man. Devours. If not this stuff, she’d be howling for some other high-wattage stimulation involving other kids and big fun things to do.
Do this for me: Try to think of swimming/theater/ballet as enriched offsite playdating, not such a stretch at six-year-old level. What’s wrong with that?
I am not a pushy father.
Now that I think about it, there’s no time for voice lessons, anyway.
Really, how much is too much?
Pater’s Plays
O mio babbino caro (from Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi) by Renée Fleming
Pops of love-struck teenagers will relate. A daughter works “dear little daddy” so he’ll let her marry a guy she’s crazy for. She gets cute, begs, threatens to throw herself in river, howls how it hurts. But very, very beautifully, no?
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Pater’s Picks
BAD KITTY Books by Nick Bruel
Bruel's brill books starring psycho cat has our seriously reluctant reader second-grader poring over the pages for half-hour stretches, even more, without threats…
October 15, 2010 | Permanent Link
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Comments
I have a comment on the voice lesson stuff. I spent my first 18 years apparently preparing for a stage career: I composed music, fooled around with three instruments, had a wardrobe for dressing up, dressing down, and cross-dressing! I wrote and directed plays and musicals for my playmates, took tap and ballet lessons, performed at school, performed in Children’s Theatre, and performed in the neighborhood and my parents’ basement. My father didn’t seem to notice much, my mother helped with sewing projects, dutifully filled the audience and served cookies. But despite these promising early signs, my career was derailed in college because of my growing performance anxiety. It just wasn’t fun anymore and I was my own harshest critic.
Life has taken me elsewhere. Now when I look back, in all of those activities, I wonder why my parents never gave me voice lessons. Seriously! Was it because I didn’t show promise, or that they had no imagination, or that they didn’t take me “seriously.” When I think about it, I wonder how that happened and if that might have helped me fend off the performance anxiety. Last year, in an expansive moment, I decided to experiment and “treat” my inner child to some voice lessons with a wonderful singer/teacher who smiles at me with the glee of an indulgent parent. If your neighbor is as great as this gal, run, don’t walk to get Girl Child some lessons. Singing, even and especially in the shower is one of the great joys in life. And sometimes, a little coaching gives us the confidence to open our mouths and trust!
Keep checking your ego and your attachment to the outcome, and then act from your heart! If it’s right for GC, you’ll know.
G
Comment #1, posted by G on November 7, 2009 at 08:10:57 PM
You told Theatre Girl that you are out-sourcing and you’re wondering why she shot you a look? Hmm. Puzzling. The only thing that saves you, dear Pater, is that the voice coach lives in your glove compartment. Because if she didn’t—you would have to be reported to the Jon Benet Society.
Comment #2, posted by Debbie on November 9, 2009 at 11:22:02 PM
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