Stairwell To Heaven

About two months ago, or so, I received an invitation to join a Facebook Group called UNA Theatre Department 1990’s from my old friend, Mike Reynolds.  He explained that he had formed this group to catch up with his theatre department family who had all, over the last fifteen or twenty years, allowed ourselves to drift apart.  I immediately accepted this invitation and started the catching up process with many people that I haven’t heard from in years.  It was fun to see where life had taken everyone!  Naturally before long, Mike was urging us all to reconnect in person, as was his way.  Back in school, Mike was the glue that held all of our personalities together…no minor feat, mind you, considering that we were actors and therefore each of us had several of them. 

Back in 1996, when I started at The University of North Alabama as a seventeen year old, greener than well tended grass, hopelessly idealistic, and shamefully naive to the real world college freshman—I naturally had it all figured out.  Before long, it was time for my first major audition with the theatre department but there was one major problem—it was a musical.  At the time, I had yet to have the opportunity to audition through song and I had no idea what I was doing.  I didn’t know how to match pitch, or read music, or breath in such a way as to support myself vocally…apparently I didn’t even know how to correctly pick an audition song because my “brilliant” song choice was…wait for it…”Memory” from the musical Cats.  Hand…to…God.  I will spare you the details of the audition, (and myself from any further embarrassment), and just say that it was a total disaster.  I calmly walked off stage, through Norton Auditorium, out the doors, and promptly disintegrated into a mess of tears in the back stairwell.  I had been there alone in my misery for maybe a minute when the door opened and Mike Reynolds walked through it.  He sat down next to me and put his arm around me, sternly asked why in the world I was crying, and then proceeded to point out all the things that I had just done right.  He wouldn’t hear my weeping explanations of the horror show that audition was and why my entire theatrical life was now obviously over.  He was encouraging.  He was supportive.  He was loving.  He was Mike.  And, he was that way with everyone he knew…as well as with some he didn’t even know! 

So, when I saw that Mike had formed this group as a way to force us all to make the effort to reconnect with each other, it didn’t surprise me.  Like I said, he had always been the glue for us.  As I sit here today, I can’t help but wish we had made more of an effort, since the start of that group, to get together.  Unfortunately, Mike saw to that as well.  All of those familiar faces gathered together last Friday to bury our dear friend, Michael Reynolds, following the fatal car accident that took him from us.  We cried, we laughed, we remembered our times together, we caught each other up on our times apart, and we missed the man who is no longer with us…because truth be told, he was the very best of us.  He taught us what dedication meant—to work, to school, to our craft, and to one another—and he taught us that so many years apart from the people, the friends, who helped make each of us who we are today is unacceptable.  I never told Mike what that small moment on the stairs meant to me.  I never told him that what he said to me was the foundation of what became a love of singing and dancing on stage, not to mention the fact that it provided me with the courage to try again.  Not one single audition has passed where I didn’t remember his words to me and draw strength from his belief in me, (which never waivered…even after that God awful nightmare of an audition so many years ago!).  And now, he has taught me the hard lesson of never allowing that oversight to happen in the future.  I have to, and will, make the effort to tell others what they mean to me and how they have helped me grow into the woman that I am today…slightly less green than that college freshman that I once was, but every bit as hopeful and idealistic.

Rest in peace, my sweet friend.  Thank you for the lessons…     

Two Shots with a Cherry On Top

As the mother of a first year middle schooler, this school year has been full of new discoveries.  I’ve had to learn a second language, (“totes,” “OMG,” “B-T-Dubs,” and most importantly—it’s always “bathroom” NEVER “potty”), I’ve had to learn new methods of battle picking, (hormones are of the devil), I’ve had to find a new level of understanding when it comes to “personal space,” and I’ve had to learn new techniques in mediating between my daughter and her father when it comes to her fashion choices.  We’ve had school dances, skin care lessons, falling down stairs in high heels, crushes, bullies, sleepovers, PG-13 movies, light make-up for picture day, trips to the mall without constant parental supervision, student government, locker decorating, bra shopping, showers in the morning instead of bath time before bed, shaving lessons, overnight Youth trips, and the raiding of Mom’s closet…what we haven’t had is crawling in bed with Mommy and Daddy in the middle of the night after a nightmare, pony tails with ribbons to match the dress, hand holding in order to cross a parking lot, bedtime stories, cartoons, footie pajamas, hugging in public (without the now mandatory eye-roll), and the list goes on and on.  Don’t get me wrong.  I understand that change is good and that all of these things are the natural progression of life…however, I just didn’t realize that it would happen practically overnight.  One week in middle school and I went from Mommy to Mom faster than you can say “SERIOUSLY!”  However, this morning I got to have a brief moment with my little girl…

Carson is heading out next week for a four day trip with her fellow sixth graders and required a tetanus shot before she leaves.  So, this morning we made the trip to the doctor.  I could tell she was nervous, but putting on the usual brave, “whatevs” face about it.  We saw the doctor; he joked around, teased her about boys, and then went out to get her shot.  When he came back in, he brought dreaded news…it would be TWO shots instead of one.  She apparently was due for a second chicken pox vaccine unbeknownst to me.  He bravely delivered the news…and then promptly scurried out.  Once the door was closed, Carson’s face shifted from “whatevs” to “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!” and then it immediately clouded up and rained.  I cuddled her in my arms, (she let me CUDDLE her!) and she wept.  Now, I am sure that there is a chapter in the "Crappy Mom’s Guidebook" about taking a small amount of pleasure in comforting your crying child, but it wasn’t as simple as that.  It was the act of being ALLOWED to comfort my crying child…it was that very brief glimpse of her where she was more little girl than young lady.  It was realizing that even though she is nearly as tall as I am, she will never be too big for me to wrap my arms around and hold while she cries.

Well, she pulled it together, practically shoved me away from her the second the door opened, (I knew it was too good to last), took each shot like a champ, and ten minutes later we were done.  With papers signed, band-aids on, and tears dried we walked out of the doctor’s office toward the car that would take her back into the quasi-adult world of middle school. When we got into the car, Carson turned to me and gave me my final lesson for the day saying, “Since I had to get TWO shots today, can we stop and get me a cherry slushy on the way to school?”

Some things you never grow out of.