Angels & Lambs & Wise Guys

Technically I've been a dad for close to four and a half years now, but last night I entered Dad-dom on a new level. L had her first preschool Christmas pageant a her church school and I crossed that threshold of isolated home-centered living to the wild, untamed, thoroughly uncivilized realm of school functions that I expect will envelope our family for many years to come. Stacy has ventured in and out of this world for several months now, but this way my voyage of discovery.

There's something about getting 75 five-and-under-year-olds in one room with their assorted parents, grandparents, siblings and sycophants that probes into every extreme of the human social dynamic. The event pushes quite a wide range of buttons. There is, admittedly, the unbridled gush of pride at my little angel's performance, though she sang very little and sucked her mouth into a fish-face an awful lot. She was clearly superior to all the other talentless hacks. (But I reluctantly realize we need to keep the rest of those miserable kids in school and off our streets.) There are definitely the warm-hearted, misty-eyed moments of peace, joy and love, except when that obnoxious little punk on the riser in front of her would sway from side to side and block my pictures. (I wanted to throw a shoe at him.)

But then there are the less honey-dewed aspects. Namely the parents. If the world were full of people like Stacy and I, what a marvelous place it would be. Everyone would sit down and stop pushing and let us move unhindered into the best photo-taking spots so I could get all my under-exposed shots. They would be reasonable and tolerant when I stood up in front of them to better watch L's group sing. They wouldn't nudge and jostle and thrust their kids in front of mine when I'm expecting the preschool teacher's full attention to get pictures with my precious darling. If everyone was as patient and thoughtful as I am, and if they only recognized that I don't have the time or patience to wait in line all night to get cookies for my kids or punch for myself, how pleasant things would be. Why can't the rest of the howling, clamoring, kicking, biting mob be as unselfabsorbed as Stacy and I are?



The performance was a mercifully short one, but nothing could have been short enough for N, who, confined to a church pew, paced about like a caged tiger, pulling out and dropping every Bible and hymnal to see how many pages could be bent when they hit the floor cover-open. (Once again, the evil influence of all those other animal children was clearly responsible.) After the conclusion of the magnum opus, the hoard of unlikely lambs and angels herded into a rather small fellowship hall for cookies, punch and more parental pushing and shoving.

Miss Yoshie and Miss Katrine, L's preschool teachers.

As we walked back to our car I contemplated this new strange world, getting a little nostalgic for all those good times a week or so ago. I was somewhat pleasantly lost in my thoughts of life and change and how we need to accept with good grace all the changes that befall us, at least until that other parent in the pretentious minivan pulled out of their parking space right in front of us and I had to yell at them to &#*$-well look where they were #$&%*ing going.

(BTW, Stacy thought my original title "Angel-song and Demon-spawn" was a little over the top and made me change it... Oh, the censorship I must put up with!)