Olympic Performance Astounds Local Dignitaries, Parents, Zeus

The boys performed their Olympic tribute at school on Friday, and I'm not shy to say that I was near a heart attack of joy. There could be as much pain as your typical heart attack, but it's the good kind that comes with needing to shout like you're at a Bronco game, but sensing it might not be appropriate.

As we sat down, Sarah told me that I was "that parent." I'm "that guy" with the camera and the hours of editing and videos I force onto Facebook members who are now only tenuously my friends. I'm that guy. Apparently, I'm OK with it because as she notified me about my problem, I was about to do an on-camera interview with her about her feelings leading up to the performance. She backed out of the opportunity, but let me say, the tension was palpable. It was standing room only in the half-gym that adjoins the cafeteria at The Village for Early Childhood Education in Littleton. The Superintendent of schools showed up, and parents representing both the Red and Rainbow room were on hand. 

And there is that fear that we already know so well, a fear verified by our very flesh and blood, that at some of these events the kids don't perform. By that I don't mean they aren't up to par in their horse riding mimicry, or they forget to rise like a baby bird coming out of its shell to represent the "birdie" used in badminton, but they simply forgo their duty altogether and come sit with us in the stands. I've explained to Quin that that kind of defeats the purpose of us being there, like when, for example, he deserted his role as outfielder on the t-ball team to lie in the grass, or gave up on soccer to swing on the swings. 

I was nervous when the boys (who were lined up outside the door for their grand entrance) spotted Sarah and me in the gym. I asked her in a voice panicked enough to warrant a fire if we should hide. She agreed with the concept, but probably wasn't ready to watch by crouching behind the people next to us, an idea that had crossed my mind. 

The children marched in and our two little Aryans were together. Each of them wearing the tye-dyed shirt they'd made in class. Quin was clearly more enthusiastic than Otto, but Otto seemed to be interested as long as Quin was. Right away two kids went down: little Veronica broke ranks and joined her mother, and Kevin ran out of the group to eventually be wrangled by the school's principal. Would our boys take a dive?

No, they would not. And that's when the principal approached me to say how great Quin and Otto were doing before quickly veering out of the conversation when she realized that I was crying. Yes, that's part of a heart attack of joy. The first time ever in the history of the world, both boys participating in a public performance together. There were some distractions, like when Miss Roseanne asked them to begin their dance and Quin missed the cue petting his brother's head. And there might have been a glitch or two when the other kids were pretending to be archers and Quin and Otto just stared into some place in kid space, but as the event progressed, so did their interest. Together, the boys curled up like baby birds for the aforementioned badminton tribute, and later they'd break into formation for something like interpretive dance or floor exercises. Otto did kind of throw in the towel when he stood stoically amongst the whirling children, but Quin got a laugh or two for his rapid gyrating response to the orchestral music. 

All in all, it was fantastic. Mr. Carlos, the maintenance guy at the school, turned to me and asked, "How did she get these kids to do this?" I mentioned it must be drugs, and then weaved through the crowd to get a better shot from the bird's-eye-view of the stairs. From there I saw Sarah gulping air and leaning proudly into a posture that said, "I'm so into this," as well as "I'm barely holding my shit together." Me too--my joy arresting my heart and seizing my civility, clamoring to get a shot of history in the making.