Fly, And Never Grow Up
Fifteen minutes late; fuck, I was fifteen minutes late.
She misses me already; I know it. But I'm running red-lights, it's so important to be there.
I dented the principal's Buick. Fuck him; he wouldn't let her take a week off and travel in Japan with me. Some bullshit about standardized testing going on that week.
This is the only time I haven't been bitter about meeting her school's faculty; today was much more important than that.
Her first play! If she isn't enthralled about it, I am; it's pretty much the first time they've taught her something to enhance her joy. Kurt told me that she'd been practicing her lines for weeks; over and over, I'd watched her myself as she recited JM Barrie's words to the bathroom mirror.
The day was here for her to say them to the world, and now I'm fuckin' late. Thank God the auditorium's the first door off of the front doors; if you can call it that. It's more of an all-purpose lunchroom/gym/auditorium. Pressing my nose to the double-doors blocking it off, I can see a group of kids on a stage bordered by red curtains, performing beneath a basketball hoop, while their parents squirm on metal folding chairs scattered across a parquet floor.
It's standing-room only in there; a woman leans against the double doors. She looks over her shoulder, sees me, takes pity and allows me inside.
Abashed, I smile at her; noticing that her arms are weighted down by a platter of Saran-Wrapped cookies. Shit, Now I have to buy something from her at intermission. Frantically, I scan the crowd for Kurt: two passes and I spot him and his uneven buzz-cut three rows deep into five rows of folding chairs.
He's mostly noticeable because of the Hunter-sized gap the empty chair beside him makes.
There's nothing harder than trying to slip through a crowd unnoticed when you're big as me. Stumbling over legs, I make it to Kurt's side. And he's sitting there, grinning like a loon and squinting through the camcorder I'd given him to record the event.
"Hey," He whispered, "You're just in time." He pointed one finger at the stage.
Relief filled me; I had blasted through downtown as quickly as he could, and still the minutes had flown by. But I hadn't missed my daughter's entrance.
Or rather, fly-by.
She looked like an elf in her costume; green, hand-made; on wires, she tip-toed into the room of the Darling children. With exaggerated gesture, she laid her hands on the Wendy-bird's sewing box, trying to get "Tinkerbell" (A little yellow light inside of a rather obvious painted 'Jewelry box'). There was a mild slapstick moment between "Wendy" and "Peter" as "he" tripped across his shadow, awakening her to an adventure she would be doomed to never forget.
I was grinning despite myself; my kid. But I couldn't take all of the credit. The biggest reason why sat right in front of me.
Stephanie, I can't complain about. She's so much more than a biological mother to Anna; she's really there. And I'm not surprised to see her mouthing the words as our daughter pipes out the tune to 'I've Gotta Crow'.
She doesn't know how grateful I am to her; there aren't many women who would willingly inseminate herself, get herself pregnant by her best friend and split the custody. Despite all of the shit in our past, I love her as a friend, as a great woman.
Kurt's oblivious to my gratefulness, however; come to think of it, he's always been jealous of Stephanie in some small way. But all of his attention is with Anna now. He coughs, swallows a cupful of fruit punch (Always the conscientious Boy Scout, my man), oh yes, and places his hand in mine.
All of the time, the camera rolls.
"Clap! Clap if you believe in fairies!" Bellows Anna, at one point, overacting as only a six-year-old with McMahon genetics can. I choke at that line, clapping with the other, conventional couples around us. There was a time in my life when those words would piss me off to no end. Guess I'm getting a sense of humor about things.
Anna is oblivious to my poignancy, bouncing around on her wires; crying and cawing and singing on cue. For some reason, I wonder if she can see me; if she's ashamed of her old dad, in his suit. And his blue nail polish, the one her other daddy insisted he should wear, because it was a real special occasion.
But she's an ageless little boy at the moment; silly and carefree. Her teachers can still hoist her on wires a few inches above a stage.
And I wish I could be her. To be that carefree, that happy again, and when it's all over shake off the pixie dust and crawl into a warm bed, knowing my parents would be there in the morning. But it's enough, to see that moment through her eyes, lost in the levity of the situation and loving it.
Barrie had it right again: Fly. Never grow up. I only hope that I can keep my heart young. I squeeze Kurt's hand.
Anna finishes her final song; tossing her head back, a defiant move. But she looks to me right away: Could I see her? Did I like the show? I give her my applause and my smirk.
Onstage, my daughter crows.