Yesterday I went with my friend Larisa to the Poel school of music, drama and dance.  Her nine-year-old son Philip was performing in a play.  He’s dressed in grey and black. I wanted to be there to cheer him on.  We sat in the front row. 

The play began with each kid being pushed by the others to the front of the stage to say something.  Though the words were in Dutch, and too much for this newbie, the light in the eyes and the wide open mouths were universal. Some of the kids were so “out there” – far beyond what most adults give in public. Whatever happened to us?

Later there was a scene where each actress and actor had an envelope in hand. One by one they opened it up and revealed to us what the message said. The occasional child was delicate in the opening but most of them ripped heartily, sending bits of paper every which way. Yes!

At one point, a girl forgot her line. An older girl, script in hand, said the line to the girl next to her, apparently wanting her to pass it further down the line to the actress who was stumped. That didn’t work, so finally the assistant walked across the stage and whispered the words into a waiting ear. We loved it, and even the girl who forgot had a smile.

The finale featured nine girls moving, grooving and speaking across the stage. But where was Philip? Soon the curtain parted and out came … Santa Claus! Larisa’s son beamed out joy. And he gave us some choice Dutch words to put a cap on the play.

We clapped and clapped