Is there something we can glean from children that eludes us despite our adult experiences? While we, as parents, are expected to be the guiding figures, there are moments when this role feels less defined. Have we misplaced a certain understanding amidst the complexities of interest rates and grocery bills, a comprehension that we once possessed but gradually let slip away? Despite all the peculiarities, emotions, tantrums, and outbursts that accompany children, perhaps they harbor invaluable lessons that surpass what we can impart to them.
Consider an incident involving my three-year-old son’s school concert a few months back. Leading up to the event, his class diligently practiced three Christmas carols. During meal times, he would often serenade us at the kitchen table, his eyes gleaming with joy as he waved his fork rhythmically to underscore the tunes. Amidst discussions over reheated macaroni and sides of grapes and carrots, it emerged that the repertoire would include two songs related to building snowmen – the familiar “Frosty the Snowman” and another, possibly a reinterpretation of “Five Little Ducklings.” However, the true highlight of the performance was slated to be the timeless classic, “Jingle Bells.”
Like many children his age, he exuded no hint of nervousness about taking the stage. As we arrived at the school and exchanged pleasantries with fellow parents, we eagerly awaited the commencement of the show. When he and his classmates finally appeared for their act, he stood in the front row wearing a Santa hat, beaming beside a friend whose name frequently graced our dinner conversations.
From his demeanor, it was evident that he harbored no concerns about his vocal performance or the audience’s reception. Such self-consciousness had yet to take root in his innocent mind. His sole focus was on the presence of his mommy and daddy in the audience, eagerly anticipating his turn to sing. With an expression of pure delight, my son launched into the opening lines with an enthusiasm and happiness that transported me back to my own childhood days of performing on stage, before the responsibilities of adulthood relegated me to the role of a spectator.
He had been entrusted with bells for the performance. Later, I realized with a sense of inner pride that he maintained flawless timing, joyfully singing along while swaying his tiny arm in sync with a rhythm he felt rather than learned. The clarity of this detail struck me when I revisited the recording of his performance the following day.
Alone in our living room, I pondered his remark in the car about my lackluster applause. As I watched the brief video on my laptop, I observed him scanning the room for his parents.
Despite our discussions leading up to the concert and his trust in our excitement to witness his performance, instead of encountering my beaming face, he found his view obstructed by the camera lens, held steady in my hands to capture a clear video for his grandparents.
“Daddy, next time, you need to clap louder. Put down your camera,” he gently chided me afterward.
In the footage, I witnessed his transition from joy to momentary confusion and back to a slightly subdued happiness. While I harbored no overwhelming sense of parental guilt, knowing my intentions were pure, a tinge of sadness lingered. Even though his distraction was fleeting, typical of children, I couldn’t shake the thought that a layer of consciousness had subtly crept in. Was this shift prompted by his desire for me to share in his unbridled joy in the present moment, rather than being preoccupied with documenting his performance for later viewing?
To clarify, this isn’t a tale steeped in sorrow: my son relished his time on stage, and we capped the evening with a rare dinner outing, processing the events over fish, chips, and his inaugural taste of fried pickles.
A pact was forged between us: I agreed to leave my camera behind next year, opting to savor the fleeting moments instead.