post production

B showed up at the play last night with his boyfriend.  B introduced me as his other mother, and I was so excited to meet the boyfriend that I hugged him when he tried to shake my hand.  I am so happy to see B happy.  I was so worried about him when he graduated last June with no plan, no confidence, no joy at the idea of living his life.  Now he has enrolled in trade school and has a love.  The heart swelling I felt must be the way his mother is supposed to feel about these things.

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Last night after the play, once the theatre was cleaned and emptied, one of my lovely twelfth grade actresses approached me.  She said, Can I tell you something without you thinking I'm being weird?  

I said yes without knowing if I would be able to keep my promise, because I like hearing weird things.

She said, My little sister (who is in eighth grade) wants to tell you this but she's too shy, so she wanted me to tell you that you're the prettiest person she has ever met.  

When I was 22 people used to tell me things like this.  I would sort through these compliments ruthlessly and find most of them insincere - because compliments that are directed at getting you into bed don't count.  The frequency of this sort of compliment dwindles away when you get older, and especially once you are married and no longer spend your time in places where the mating dance is the focus of the evening.

So this sweet compliment took me off guard, all innocent and non-manipulative and generous and warm.  I got all teary.  Maybe it was exhaustion from the play and working fourteen hour days.  Or maybe I'm just a shallow creature who is focused on shallow things like appearance.  I don't know.  Whatever it was, I appreciated it.




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