I’ve graduated to a new stage in life. Whereas I used to attend all school performances as a proud mama, now I’m there as the shepping Savta. Not much has changed in these performances over the last 20 years. They’re still (too) long filled with (too many) speeches, and performed by (too many) kids on the stage.
Yet to my surprise something else has stayed the same. Sitting on mini kindergarten chairs watching the story of Yosef Makir Shabbos, I’m riveted to one small person in the crowd gathering around Yosef. One of those little people is my granddaughter and I have eyes only for her. Isn’t she glowing? Isn’t she the cutest? Don’t her eyes shine the brightest, her smile the widest? I know in my head there are probably other cute children on that stage. But I don’t see them. Mine dominates the stage of my eyes.
Do others feel the same as they look at their daughter or granddaughter? Most probably. Still, I don’t notice those spectators either. I have tunnel vision with only my einekel as the light at its end.
This idea never ceases to amaze me. We love our children (and grandchildren) so much, they occupy a disproportionate place of pride in our hearts. Someone else’s kid may have the main part but mine has the main part in my participation.
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