All the world's a stage

Dirty secret #243: I am a chicken. I mean, I am a big ol' Foghorn Leghorn (I know, he's a rooster, but I can't think of any huge girl chickens) sized chicken. I loathe public speaking. Even in school, doing speeches or reports in front of the class made me break out in hives.

Acting, therefore, is not in my repertoire. I think I'd pass out cold if I had to remember lines and spew them out on command in front of a packed house. In high school, I had to memorize the gravedigger's scene in Shakespeare's play, Hamlet. Even though I had one of my dearest friends as the other gravedigger, and my English class had maybe 12 kids in it, you would have thought I was standing on stage at the Globe Theater in front of old Bill himself. I was freaking out. I don't know how I made it through to the end, but I did.

Luckily, this is another one of my neuroses that I have managed NOT to pass along to my children. As everyone within earshot of me knows, I have a musical brood. They get up on stage and sing and play various instruments....in front of people. Lots and lots of people. Strangers! it's mind boggling to me.

I suppose it's rather ironic that I, the Queen of never trying anything new, encourage my children to try all sorts of new things. It's definitely not my trying to relive my misspent youth through them (see paragraph one above). I never had any desire to be in the spotlight....especially knowing if the spotlight did shine on me, I'd probably hurl...in epic proportions.

I am always anxious when my kids try something new. I try not to let them see it, but trust me, it's bubbling beneath the surface. There have been tons of musical auditions...more than a handful of rejections...and they keep going. It's their passion.

When Russell told me he was trying out for the school play, I was shocked...and worried...and so, so, so excited for him. I couldn't believe he wanted to subject himself to that sort of scrutiny. He auditioned...and made it past the first round of cuts...and then had to wait to find out if he made the final cut. His text to me this morning was only three small words, "I MADE IT!," but I could picture the look on his face, and I knew the unadulterated sense of joy he was feeling.

So, I'll be there, in the audience watching him try something new...and hoping I don't embarrass him by fainting...or barfing...or both.