Those lessons we learn.

You know as a parent, I think there is nothing worse than watching your kids when they are sad. Not sad because they can't have that lolly at the shop, or because they don't want to share their toys.

That is annoying sad.

I am talking about the sad where you know they need to be sad to learn. Like the stage Darcy went through when he barely ate anything except sandwiches and chips and nuggets.

Yes. I am one of those evil parents who feed their kids McDonalds. Sue me.

It got to a point where we had to make the decision that if he didn't eat what was on his plate, he didn't eat at all. And dinner time was our biggest battle. There was nothing that hurt my heart more than listening to my little boy lying in bed, crying, because he was hungry. It hurt me and I felt awful, but I knew as a parent I had to do it. Now, he is no where near as fussy, and he doesn't go to bed hungry.

Lesson Learned.

As I've mentioned in previous entries, Darcy is a dancer. For the past year he has been attending a dance school and is learning Tap dancing and Jazz ballet. For those who know Darcy, he has the moves. He is one little groover, and he has been since he music touched his soul, which are connected to his legs and pelvis.

He does a bad ass Michael Jackson. 

On Saturday was his first concert on the big stage. He was in his element, and it's something he's been building up to most of the year. The night before he admitted to me he felt like it was Christmas. He was too excited to sleep. I was so proud of his commitment even then. He is born for the stage.

Saturday came and he nailed it. I mean he absolutely killed it. He was amazing. He knew the steps perfectly, shook that pelvis - and if that wasn't adorable enough, he sung his little heart out to the music. The music he knew back to front.

So you think you can dance would have thought he was weird. I thought he was amazing.

So the night ended and it was time for the award ceremony. Each person in the show presented on stage with a medal around their necks, all for participation in the end of year concert. Darcy, he was chuffed. Beaming. Completely stoked with his medal. Then they all sat down and they began presenting trophies for excellence in each category of dancing. Darcy was enthused to begin with, politely applauding the others who won trophies. Then his little friend from school won one, and he began to look expectantly at the director, waiting for his trophy.

The one that would never come.

As each name was called from then, he became more and more defeated. He was unable to hide his anguish, as he knew his name wouldn't be called. He clutched his hair, he held his head in his hands, he rested his head on the floor. He held on to this tears until he was red in the face.

And he did it, on the stage, in front of 500 people.

And my heart broke.

And then his cousin won a trophy. And he tried to be happy, but when he looked at the trophy when she sat down, he fell apart.

And so did I. 

My sister and I sat watching, so elated and excited that her daughter, my niece, had won her first award. So sad, so torn, because of the torment Darcy was suffering.

And I realised, he was learning. He was learning that we don't always win. We don't always get that job. We don't always get that promotion. We don't always get the guy, or win the lotto, but we have fun trying.

And once again as a parent, I had to watch my son suffering one of the many lessons in life. How to be a gracious loser, how to be happy for others whilst swallowing the disappointment that threatens to blacken us. And I wanted to find the biggest trophy in the world and give it to him. But I knew he had to learn. It made me realise that maybe this age of 'everyone gets a prize' isn't teaching our kids anything. That maybe they need these lessons learned earlier so it's not so publicly painful as they get older. That they are still special and valued and can still have fun, despite winning.

So I cuddled him. Loved him. Praised him for being my favourite dancer on the stage and said that all he has to do is have fun, and as soon as the fun is gone from his dancing, he didn't have to do it anymore.

And when I tucked him into bed that night, his tired eyes all red, and his lips all puffy, he said "Well, Tessa didn't get a football trophy". And I said "No, that's right!"

But didn't have the heart to point out that no, well she didn't play football, and she did get a netball trophy! Whatever helps you sleep at night hey?

xx