My husband and I went to a school function this morning for our granddaughter who’s in first grade. She and her brother attend a small private school, one which has a fantastic curriculum with a particular emphasis on reading and the arts. (Some of the kids’ paintings would put many adult would-be artists to shame—myself included.)
Today’s special program was a puppet show presented by the first graders. It was an adaptation of the story “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Each child in the class had a role and created his or her own puppet to go with it. Our granddaughter, S., was chosen by the teacher as one of the two narrators of the story. Her best friend, C.K., was the other one.
Wow, can these kids read! They stood up to the microphone and did an excellent job—even when the microphone started blaring feedback shortly after S. started. Luckily, that was corrected and S. continued with her narration, completely unfazed by the air raid siren volume of racket that so rudely interrupted her. I was exceedingly proud of her. I told her teacher that only a couple of years ago S. was a shy little flower who didn’t want anyone to look at her and got very upset if she thought anyone might be laughing at her.
Today, she was Ethel Merman on Broadway. Way to go!
The puppet show was scheduled for 11:00 am and since we live about eleven miles outside of town we calculated that we should leave home about 10:20 to give us enough time to get to the school before the show started. (I hate to be one of those people who comes straggling in after something has already begun. Maybe it’s because everyone turns around and looks at you—gee, I wonder where S. got her phobia about not wanting to be looked at? Hmmm…..)
It turns out we left home a little early, about 10:15, so we arrived at the school just a bit after 10:30—way too soon because the kids were out on the playground and there weren’t many other cars in the vicinity that looked like they belonged to fellow puppet show attendees. We sat there for a minute and then decided we’d go to the post office and pick up our mail first and then come back.
My husband asked “Why is it old people are always early to everything and young people are always late?”
I just looked at him and replied “It’s because young people have a life.”
But, if we did have a life, we might have been too busy to see Ethel…er…S. in her big performance.
I much prefer it this way. Here’s to the Early Birds.