Little Bird

Mary Jean’s in her first play. She's a bird. I’m going to watch tonight.
As all the first grade parents assemble, we share notes. Who has what part, who is the best, who is scared, who will be the star.

No one mentions Mary Jean. As a proud mother, I insert myself in conversations.

“Mary Jean is a bird. She’s practiced hard for this. I can’t wait to see her perform.”

“But Josie is the witch…”

“John is the prince. He’s so handsome. Just made for this…”

One especially annoying parent chimed in, “Well, my little Angie is the Queen and oh boy! She is beautiful, charming and the right little beauty for that part!”

I backed away, took a seat and avoided all those stage moms and dads. My Mary Jean would be a bird, my little bird.

The program started off just fine; little people forgot their lines, waved to the audience, started to cry. Just adorable. I kept waiting for Mary Jean to come on stage.

Finally toward the end, she flies onto the stage. The paper wings we made are ripped, feathers are falling, but she’s a happy, smiling bird.

“Brava! Huzzah!” I yell. My little bird hears me. She stops in mid-stage, breaks character, yells back, “Hi mom!” Then she continues to fly around.

So the prince rescues the princess, the Queen rules the kingdom and the evil witch is vanquished. But my little bird is star. She brings food to the princess, who wouldn’t have made it to the prince without that food. And the evil witch is chased away by the brave little bird. Finally the Queen gives the brave little bird a medal.

We went for ice cream after the show where Mary Jean got the real reward she’d been promised.

W/C 299