What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

Last night my daughter, Michelle, a senior, was in her high school pageant.

I guess I must be one of a handful of people in the world who don’t get into pageants. I mean I’m happy that everyone else enjoys them and I try to put on my best public face so that no one thinks I’m too weird, but aside from the fact that I know they mean so much to my children, I’d probably rather visit my dentist—at least I’d come away with clean teeth. Sadly I usually leave most of our local high school functions feeling at best faintly tainted and at worst like I need to make a general confession; the ‘entertainment’ is almost always tasteless, raucous, and suggestive.

And yet, I know I cannot completely shelter my daughters from what is ‘out there’ – to attempt to do so would only put us in this tug o’ war relationship, with me fighting to keep them away from what looks and sounds like ‘fun’. So I shudder and prepare to endure another pageant.

As I sat there last night watching each young couple walk out on stage and listened to the description of his/her accomplishments, favorite teachers, quotes, memories, aspirations, heroes, and goals, I began to marvel at how many of them named a mother, father, sister or grandparent as a hero.

Thinking back to my older daughter’s pageant the previous year, I remembered a different sort of text. It seemed all the student introductions were much more goal-oriented then and much less personal; whereas this year, the focus was on values, people, and why individuals mattered. The entire tone of the ceremony had shifted.

Then I thought back to my own high school days. Who was my hero? What were my goals? Did I even think about becoming anyone’s hero back in those days? Or was I too busy thinking about what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go and what I wanted out of life? It was all about me then. Many days I still am ‘all about me’. Most days?

I thought how wonderful it was that all around me were Heroes—not famous heroes, maybe, but heroes, nevertheless. Here sat moms and dads, brothers and sisters, grandmas and grandpas who meant something to these young people.

Okay, so these same young people listened to loud music and they dressed funny and yes they still have a lot to learn, but so did I when I was their age and heck I still have a lot to learn ... and for that matter, I still dress funny ... well to some people. Silent tears ran down my cheek.

When you think about it, is there anything better you can aspire to be when you grow up, than your own child’s hero . . . especially when your offspring is no longer a tot?

My daughter walked out on stage. She was beautiful. I could hardly believe it was her. I can still see the little three year old who told me she was going to live with me when she grew up and make my sandwiches. Where was that sweet little chubby face?

I can’t remember the exact words but when they read her name they said her heroes were her parents.

My husband was standing in the back filming the performance; I was sitting next to strangers. No one was embarrassed by my crying.

My parents and my parents-in-law are my heroes too.

Thank you God and please bless our family.

I guess I have to say I have changed my mind about pageants.