Earlier this week our daughters’ school celebrated their 13th annual Drumfest, an evening of music and end of school year fun.
We’ve attended Drumfest before and always enjoyed the non-competitive environment. Each class and every student is encouraged to take the stage and have a ball while performing some of their favourite popular songs in front of their fellow students, teachers and relatives.
There are no winners and losers, just a time to celebrate.
I wasn’t expecting to get choked up and was thankful to be able to hide behind my sunglasses and a baby bouncing on my lap.
Allow me to back up the school bus a couple of weeks so the waterworks may seem justified.
Ellie who will be graduating from her very first year of school moving up from JK to SK was sent home with a carefully constructed, colourful notice home about Drumfest, the history, a video on how drums are manufactured, a list of top ten famous drummers, a craft, definition of percussion, tickets to see Stomp etc. along with the song assignment for her class (Birds of a Feather from the movie Rio) and instructions for designing a costume for their big number.
Each day, Ellie would come home and ask to play her song on youtube so she could rehearse her dance steps and would scour her closet for the perfect tropical bird ensemble. Not a moment would pass that we didn’t hear something about birds, drums, costumes or choreography. She would wake in the night chirping although she’ll deny this during daylight hours.
Me: Hanna, what is your class doing for Drumfest?
Hanna: We’re not sure yet.
“We’re not sure yet” was the answer I got for weeks leading up to the big event. I suspect in part with five year olds you really do need to begin the process months ahead of time, especially when teaching thirty plus kids the intricacies and subtle nuances of becoming a bird.
Finally Hanna came home with a song title, Rebecca Black’s Friday while Ellie was pouring through tapes of tropical birds and scanning microfiche files trying to capture their mannerisms, beak movements and how to make a tropical bird whose habitat is so far removed from our small town seem believable on a local stage.
Me: Great—do you have a dance? What are you going to wear?
Hanna: Not sure and don’t know.
Hmmmmm
As the day grew closer, Hanna explained they were to form groups of four students, make up a dance and wear something that would look cool on stage.
Like a Spiderman costume? I’m getting nothing.
So when it came time for the performance I wasn’t holding my breath. I was expecting a series of mistimed head-butts and kids awkwardly tripping over each other, a few minor injuries while erroneously shouting the lyrics to Rebecca Black’s Friday. Some students would be playing to the tune of their own drum and some would not show up at all. I expected the dancing to be non-existent with a lot of uncomfortable giggles, pauses until they were politely encouraged off stage.
Ellie en route to Drumfest: You are a bird, you are a bird, you are a bird Ellie.
Hanna: I feel sick.
This could be abysmal.
Then something unbelievable happened. I realized and not for the first time, kids aren’t always accurate in their re-telling of details. Hanna had obviously spent time, energy and focus on working as a team to prepare their number.
The grade two class was introduced, the music started to play and my quite introverted, dressed to look cool on stage seven year old beaming from ear to ear jumped front and centre with three other same-age kids and giggled, danced and quite possibly enjoyed the most exhilarating, wildly successful three minutes she’s experienced to date and I couldn’t believe my now teary eyes.
When her thirty second portion had finished, she skipped into the background and continued dancing, encouraging her classmates and loving every second of it.
When I told a girlfriend about my emotional reaction she suggested I have my hormones checked or take a pregnancy test.
This was simply a proud parenting moment and nothing more.
The birds were adorable too.
