Wisdom from a childless 26 year-old circus guy: “It’s gotta be hard not to live vicariously through your kids.” Amen to that, Nick.
This conversation took place in the bowels of the United Center, as we were waiting to escort 30 youngsters onto the court for a pre-Bulls-game performance of circus arts. My 8 year-old daughter was nervously hoping to pull off a mistake-free German Wheel routine on the holy boards that once witnessed the antics of the God of Basketball himself, Mr. Jordan. In how many different capacities can a parent live vicariously?
J, Em, and I left the group just before showtime to take our places in section one (sitting there for the pre-game documentation only–it was up to the nosebleed seats for the actual game), video and still cameras in hand. When M lightly jogged out onto the floor alongside her giant metal wheel, looking toddler-sized, my stomach exploded with crazy stage-fright. It was not the familiar mother-fright that comes with watching your child do something a little dangerous (M had, just days before, landed in the ER after a fall from the top of a wheel in mid-turn–though stitches turned out not to be necessary). No. It was the fright of the performer. Stage-fright (mine, at least) is a particular kind of stomach upset that can be described as “butterflies” if those butterflies are made out of heavy metal and there are thousands of them crammed together, jockeying for position non-stop. I was unprepared for my vicarious experience to go to that level of involvement. What the hell?
She was brilliant. From the “handstand on” to her last-minute mastery of the double straddle, she was all business. But that’s how she operates. If she is committing to something, it’s with 100% buy-in and the self-inflicted pressure to not make a single mistake. You can see it in her face. She hasn’t performed enough to know how to keep the concentration and determination out of her features. That’s one of the things I treasure about watching these kids do circus. You can see how hard they’re working, and if they smile, it’s because they’re having the time of their lives, not because someone told them they had to. There’s no pretense, just presence. It’s a beautiful thing.
The other beautiful thing I witnessed was her coach’s determination to keep her safe. She’s the youngest, newest wheel student there, and M’s wipe out effected him too. There are a couple of still photos of the event featuring him and M in which his readiness to catch her is palpable. In his face, his focus, and the set of his hands. Needless to say, these are M’s favorite photos too.
I don’t know yet if the thrill of this performance will translate into the addiction that her mother has for it, but it’s gratifying to know that not only did she get through it, she felt good about it. Her strength and determination awe me; and I vow to work to keep my ego the hell out of the way.
