Feeling: proud
Listening to: 30 Odd Foot of Grunt - Other Ways of Speaking
Reading/Watching: nothing

Last night, 4 of my "kids" performed two songs each for their families, dressed up and nervous on the St. Moo recital hall stage.

I introduced them one at a time, then invariably wound up at the back of the hall, making eye contact with them to prompt them on entrances (finding a pianist was hell, so they never got to rehearse with him until the night of the recital), feeding them the words when they forgot, reminding them to smile, don't fidget, drop the jaw, think "up and over"...

And their moms, dads, grandparents, siblings, and in one case, husband and son, sat in the audience and beamed proudly, clapping after every song.

It was so exhilirating. I may doubt myself, I may think this is a cop-out, or a fall-back plan, I may be constantly reminded that I make about six cents a month doing this, but this is what I do. This is what I love. This is who I am. I realized that last night, being the one not on stage, being the woman in the back with the smile that keeps them going, with the gestures and thumbs-up that make them relax, and smile, and sing, just as well as they do when they're alone with me. They would be so nervous, so stiff, and then they would look at me and open up, trusting me to guide them. I swear, I felt the ghost of my college mentor standing next to me, doing the same thing for me a thousand times.

What a rush.

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