"There was something about being in front of audiences when I was in elementary school plays that gave me a thrill. It was like the rush you get from a roller coaster drop."
-Mira Sorvino
I do have one question. How is it that I can arrive at such an event 45 minutes early and still get stuck on the 5th row? Since when did public school programs become more difficult to land seats at than a Taylor Swift concert? I say this, because this was about my 20th school program this school year, and I'm having to arrive earlier and earlier to get a decent seat. I've probably spent 200 hours saving seats over the last nine months. I mean, I'm not complaining. I get some good reading done, but really?
There were maybe 20 people in the room, but each person was saving ten to fifteen seats. And I was no different. I rushed madly to the first open row and began emptying the contents of my purse in order to save seats. My cell phone and keys were each holding a spot, as was my chapstick and sunglasses. I think I had a stick of gum holding the last seat for me. The front row is never even an option. I've never actually seen a living person sitting on the front row, when I arrive at a ridiculously early time, but there are blankets and jackets heaped upon every seat. I'm quite certain that, earlier in the day, someone is slipping a twenty to the custodial staff along with their jacket and blanket, but I have yet to prove it.
As I sat reading my book last night, I noticed one lady walk up and take six seats from a back row and add them to the end of the third row. Part of me was bothered, but another part of me was jealous that this genius idea had never occurred to me. A gentleman sat behind me and said in an obviously loud voice that he felt that seat saving was morally wrong. If the moral decline of this nation stops at seat saving then let the corruption continue unencumbered. I'm sure the comment was directed at me, but I didn't let it bother me. I had grandparents rushing straight from work to make the program, and children at home trying to finish up homework and violin practicing. There was no need for everyone to drop everything to get to the school, when my chapstick could hold the seats just as easily. My favorite is when a family of five shows up to these events five minutes before the show starts and are shocked and disgruntled when there is not a seat to be found. I was that family once. Now I camp out.
If the sixth grade play is busy, then the school musical is utter mayhem. They open the doors a half an hour before the show starts, and people start lining up an hour before that. Seat saving is strictly prohibited at this event, so I drag my brood with me and encourage the grandparents to maybe bust their butts to get there early because there is no guarantee I'll be able to hold their seat.
Get this, there is a Priority Seating line for the elementary school musical. I'm pretty sure that shady deals nothing short of Watergate go down for half the people in that line, and the other half had do donate at least 1,000 volunteer hours to secure their coveted spot. It's possible that younger siblings have even been sold into indentured servitude so that mommy can be in the first three rows. Those teenagers you see cleaning the school every afternoon? I always thought that they received a paycheck for their efforts, but I am now convinced they are simply working off mom's front row seats from the Jungle Book production of 2007.
They open the doors, and once the priority seaters have skipped their ways to the front three rows, the rest of us must fight for the remaining seats. Black Friday looks like a picnic after opening night at the school play. Let's face it, throwing a couple of chairs out on the gym floor is not exactly stadium seating. The Watergaters up on the front row are really the only ones who can see. Without fail, I get stuck behind the lady who allows all of her children to stand on their seats so they can enjoy a nice view of the show. And all of this so that my child can at least sense my presence in the audience, if he can't see my smiling face.
I'm being a little snarky here. I may have embellished things a touch. The truth of the matter is, I'm not all that frustrated with the pre-program insanity. As you can see, I spend most of my time snickering at the silliness of it all.
A packed house at the sixth grade program means that you have a whole stage full of children with strong support systems. Little Sally may only have 13 seconds on the stage, but she has parents, two sets of grandparents, an aunt and uncle or two, and a dozen siblings and cousins, sitting on the second row, staring up at her with pride in their eyes and love in their hearts. And they praise her at the end as if she owned the stage.
It takes a village to raise a child. And if the whole village shows up to every performance, then that is one loved child. And if it means that I have to fight tooth and nail to secure seats for my village of supporters for my #1 kiddo, then I'll do it gladly. It is a sad day, when I'm the only one who shows up to a school performance. May the gymnasiums continue to burst at the seams, because the next generation needs as much love as they can get!
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