I Think I Can Do It

I have long considered myself a Jane of All Trades. I’m marginally good at a lot of things, but not particularly fabulous at many of them. I have accepted this about myself, truly I have. I generally look at new tasks with a shrug and think, “I can probably figure that out.”

And then there’s Bean.

Bean is very much like her mama, just magnified and multiplied. She’s so smart and so lovely and so very, very kind. And she’s fearless. I have heard her say, “I think I can do that!” since she was maybe three years old. She is not afraid to go down the slide headfirst, literally or figuratively. And she is good at a wide berth of things, but that level of good is just camouflage, because I can see the glimmer of brilliance hiding underneath. She’s only 11 but she’s an artist, a visionary, a true creator. Sometimes I’d swear that I can see a golden shimmer around the edges of her shadow. She astounds me often.

Bean brought home a flyer from school advertising tryouts for a play. It’s open to the entire school district ages 10 – 18. She asked me if I thought she could do it – meaning, was she capable of it. I said that I thought she could do anything she truly wanted to do, but that didn’t mean she’d do it the first time she tried and that failure was not an good reason to stop trying. She looked at me evenly, not saying anything for a moment. Then she nodded and said, “I think I can do it.” And I smiled and said, “Then you can.”

Tryouts are tonight. Sixty-something kids are here and most of them have acting resumes in their hands – something I didn’t even know was a thing. A lot of these kids have professional acting experience. Bean didn’t want me to stand in line with her, so I sit on the sidelines. Bean is nervous, shaky, wants to bolt. I can see it on her face. I sneak over and give her a hug.

She looks at me, her eyes wide and wild, and says, “Mom, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” I ask. “The very, very worst.”

“I don’t get the part and everyone laughs at me when I try.”

“Naaaah….” I say. “Fifty of these kids aren’t going to get the part. The very, very worst is that you get up there and poop your pants. That would be WAY WORSE.”

Despite herself, she starts to laugh. And exclaims, “I am NOT going to poop my pants!”

“See?” I said. “If the very worst thing possible isn’t going to happen, anything that does happen is manageable. Right?” And I go back to my seat, not looking back. She’s got this.

So now I’m waiting in the hallway with sixty other parents. I have very real doubts this will go the way Bean hopes, but I have no doubt that the lesson will stick. Failing is never the worst possible outcome. Failure is inevitable and not to be feared – it’s just a sign that you need to do things differently next time. Learning how to laugh at yourself is a gift that will never stop coming in handy. And maybe you should wear a PullUp to auditions in the future.

And I didn’t tell her this, but if she poops her pants on stage, she’s gonna get an Uber home. I am all for supporting my kid, but dang… Even moms need to draw the line somewhere.