I bought tickets to a local performance of the "Nutcracker." I thought this would be the beginning of a holiday tradition: a special “mommy and me” event, perhaps even a monumental moment in my almost four-year-son’s cultural development.

A few days before the show, I reminded Kai, “On Saturday, we’re going to see the Nutcracker.”

“Mmm, hmmm,” he mumbled balancing his Jedi Star fighter on the edge of the table.

“Just you and me,” I added hopefully, “Daddy and Colby are staying home.”

“Vrrr Vrrr Booommm!” he screeched as the spaceship crashed to the floor.

Still, I was determined that he would love it. As we drove to the performance, I asked him if he would like to listen to the Nutcracker soundtrack in the car.

“No,” he said, “Can we listen to “Star Wars?””

As I parked, I got a glimpse of Kai in the rearview mirror, happily humming along to the Star Wars soundtrack while studying his Star Wars book. Please understand that my son has never actually watched Star Wars. His “Star Wars book” is really a toy catalog that came with the Star Wars figurine he earned recently.

“Here we are!” I announced, “Are you excited?”

“No,” he said, “Can we bring my Star Wars book?”

I realized that he might need a little external motivation to get through this performance. So, armed with a gingerbread cookie and the toy catalog, we found our seats and waited for the show to begin.

When the overture piped through the theatre’s stereo system, I started feeling a little disappointed. I had hoped for a live orchestra.

“Why isn’t anything happening?” Kai asked loudly.

“Shhh…” I said for the first of many times.

“Wow, look at that!” I whispered as the curtain went up to reveal a beautiful Christmas tree.

“Can I have a snack?” Kai asked, unimpressed.

Once the dancing started, Kai slid on and off my lap and wiggled, bumped and jiggled on his seat, only occasionally glancing at the stage. He laughed at the toy soldier’s jerky dance and I felt a surge of hope.

“Can I have my Star Wars catalog?” he asked.

“Shhh. . .”

Snowflake ballerinas of all different sizes sparkled and fluttered across the stage.

“Star Wars,” Kai sighed, obviously wishing he was elsewhere. Sadly, I admitted to myself that he might have been happier with a trip to the park.

At intermission, I fulfilled my promise to “read” the Star Wars catalog to Kai. For the next ten minutes, we discussed light sabers, Jedi star fighters and transformers. There was no mention of nutcrackers or the Sugar Plum fairy.

“I want the Darth Vader Death Star for my birthday,” he said.

“That’s a really big present,” I whispered as the lights dimmed.

Then a miracle happened. Kai watched quietly in my lap as the Spanish, Chinese and Arabian dancers performed for Clara and the Prince. “Finally,” I thought, “he’s enjoying this.”

Kai smiled up at me in the dark. He reached his arms up around my neck and gave me a big kiss. This was what I imagined.

“Mom,” he said trying really hard to whisper, “I think you can find a big enough box for the Death Star.”

By Maya Creedman

Labels: Maya Creedman

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