When the evening of the play finally came, I was made to go by my teachers. Just because I wasn’t in the play didn’t mean I got to ditch it. My little brother would also be in it, and he had his own role. Because I was his big sister, I was obligated to go. My teachers also reasoned that the family and friends of the students had to meet the artist who spent over 70 hours painting highly detailed tree branches across the panels. I wasn’t up for that, so I made a plan to sprint outside to my mom’s car as soon as the play was over. My mom had an issue with that though, and said I needed to stay inside afterwards and at least talk to someone, rather than just hide in her car. I took in a few deep breaths, and mentally prepared myself for what I was about to go through.
My grandparents met me at the school, and I stayed close to my grandpa Lyle because I hoped he could keep everyone from talking to me. He can talk to literally anyone, and I knew his charm and ability would keep people from talking to me. At least I hoped. The only problem was, I was (and still am) several inches taller than him, so I can’t hide behind my grandpa very easily.
At first, everything was too chaotic to really have any decent conversations with anyone. Everyone who was in the play was busy getting into their costumes, which were about as ugly as they were uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable just looking at my friend in her 1920s-era frilly, homemade dress, and she kept asking me if every little pin and bow was in place so it didn’t look even worse than it already did. I did my best to reassure her the dress was just fine for what it was, and she’d only be on stage for 10 minutes max, but I couldn’t hide my sympathy. She said something along the lines of, “I can’t wait to burn this dress!”, as she and the other play participants walked backstage just before the play.
My brother, on the other hand, thought he looked awesome in his suit and hat. Of course, he was in 2nd grade, so he wasn’t ashamed at all yet. But, I reassured him that one day, when he was my age, I’d show him the recordings on my family’s phones of his performance, and he’d be just as mortified about being in the play, as my friend was about being in her dress. He just shook his head, crossed his arms, gave me a rebellious smirk, and then darted backstage.
I joined my family in the second-to-first pew in front of the stage. My grandpa leaned over and whispered to me about just how amazing my panels were, and I should be very proud. Other people around us heard him, and agreed. In fact, a couple moms couldn’t even believe I was the one who painted those panels. I told them I was forced to paint those panels for over 70 total hours, so obviously I had plenty of time to pay attention to detail. They snickered at the word “forced”, but I stood by it, because it was true.
The lights dimmed, and the play began. A middle school student played the main character, and he was actually very good. Of course, he also loved being at the center of attention, and wanted to be an actor when he grew up, so he was just perfect for the role as the main character.
Everyone in the play did a great job actually, and I must admit, I teased my friend by holding my phone up and pretending to press “record” when she came up, but I didn’t actually film anything. She had a look of panic at first, but very quickly realized I was just kidding. I didn’t want a school play to take up any storage space on my phone. After her role though, I lost interest and let my mind wander. The rest of the play went by in a blur, and as soon as the curtain was drawn, everyone stood up for a standing ovation. I didn’t think the play was very entertaining, but I clapped just because my peers were much braver than I was.
The teachers directed everyone to the church cafeteria for cupcakes and drinks. As soon as my peers were out of their costumes and in the cafeteria with everyone else, a few couldn’t help but point out I had to give a sermon the first Wednesday after we got back from Spring Break. I nearly spat out my water, and instead inhaled it. My peers giggled at my suffering as I coughed and choked in a panic. All I could think to say during my coughing episode was, “Thanks for reminding me. Spring Break is ruined!”, which was stuttered between coughs and breaths. My peers put the words together though, and laughed even harder. My coughing turned into nervous chuckling, as I tried to go along with them and pretend I was just kidding about my ruined Spring Break. But we all knew it was true.
Even my teachers reminded me, including the teacher who labeled me rebellious. He came up behind me just as I was walking out to the parking lot with my grandpa, threw his arm across my shoulders, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “I hope you come back with a sermon prepared that will convince Christ to literally come back down to earth the second you end it!”
All I could respond with was, “Uh… Yes! yes I will!” as I forced a smile and died inside.
I didn’t bother to tell my grandpa I was supposed to give a sermon. When he found out, he smiled and practically shouted, “Oh, you have to give a sermon! I’ll be here for that!”
My grandpa liked to join me at Wednesday church sometimes, and I didn’t want him to come the day I was supposed to give a sermon because I worried I’d fail spectacularly. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of someone in my life I loved and admired, and who was right at home preaching to room fulls of people.
As soon as I got home that night, I sat at the kitchen bar, taking small bites of my steak, and thinking about all of the ways I could embarrass myself on the stage in front of all of my peers. It was bad enough I had to wear a skirt every Wednesday and sit in the hardwood pews for an hour, but everything got exponentially worse when I knew I had to stand at the pulpit and give a sermon to 30-something people, including to the teachers who loved to put every student’s full sermon on the school’s Facebook page. My mom saw just how anxious I was, and told me no matter what, I would survive to tell the tale. I nodded, but didn’t take her words to heart. I just sat there, deep in thought, thinking about all of the ways I could screw up.
