A Grandmother’s Confession

You may think I’m a mature woman with grandchildren, but there are times I’m a junior higher with acne.  I have proof.  Last night I got the giggles at the worst time…at our beautiful granddaughter’s choir concert.  Front row seats put me close enough to the stage that I felt like I was part of the performance.  And in a way, I was.

I’ve been to enough recitals and musical performances through the years to realize all parents care about one thing only.  Their child.  They would love to exit the building as soon their student exits the stage.  Most of the dads just want to get home for the second half of the ball game.  But to be polite, they endure.

It was no different last night as we scanned the program to see the order of classes.  Sure enough, the sixth grade choir was smack dab in the middle with a grand finale featuring all grades to close out the evening.  We couldn’t leave.  We were there for the duration. The first group to perform was the fifth grade band.  How wonderful to see ten year olds learning to play instruments together.  Feet tapping and little mouths keeping the rhythm.  One-two-three-four….play!

But, oh, what was that noise?  Woodwinds squeaking at the most critical moment and drums banging off-beat masked any resemblance of melody. The chaotic notes just about did me in.  I tried to concentrate on the children working so hard to present their gift of music.  But no matter how hard I bit my lip and tried to focus, I lost control.  My body shook with laughter until I thought I’d burst.  What must the parents sitting around me think?  I didn’t want to offend them and was fearful the principal was about to come grab my arm and usher me out.  I’d lost it.

It didn’t help that my husand was getting text messages from a friend on the opposite side of the room.  I could just imagine what the message said as he, too, was stifling the chuckles.  And that made it funnier than ever for me.  He tried to show me his phone, but I couldn’t even see the text through the tears my belly laugh was leaving behind.  It got worse when my husband elbowed me to stop.   Hey, I’m usually the one elbowing him.  How did I get to be the junior higher? 

As our five year old grandson climbed up on our laps I thought he would help me gain control, but things continued to get funnier and funnier.  When he whispered in my ear, “Did you know we didn’t have to pay anything for this tonight?  It’s free,” I was immersed in laughter once again.  No more, please stop.  It had to be a conspiracy to get me excommunicated. 

This is the same child who asked me what infinity meant during the concert last year.  I explained as simply as I could that it was something that went on forever and never ended.  He replied, “Do you mean like that band up there?” Are you kidding?  How did a preschooler get so witty?   I almost fell off my chair laughing.  At least I was not in the front row that time. 

So here I was again in the same auditorium…and Grandma lost it again. I was going to get a reputation. The man next to me looked over while I pretended to be coughing instead of squelching giggles.  I knew I was about to be ousted if I didn’t regain control.  Why are things so much funnier when you’re not supposed to laugh?

The Bible says laughter is good medicine.  I guess I got a big enough dose last night to keep me healthy for a month!  Next time, I’ll go prepared.  Earplugs and lemon drops might help.

FYI, our granddaughter’s choir performed beautifully.  Perhaps the band just needs a little more practice…