When you first become a parent, you understand that your life will change. But you never fully understand to what degree until you are in the middle of an auditorium, surrounded by 1000 squealing children and large singing, dancing vegetables staring down at you from stage from behind concert lights.
All three of my children have gone through the "Veggietales" phase. But none as much as my youngest, James, is right now.
A couple of months ago, we received some of the silly vegetable videos as a gift, and since then, tomatoes and cucumbers have taken over our lives. They even have their own place in our nightly prayers..."God bless Daddy, God bless Mama, God bless Bob, God bless Larry..." In fact, anytime we go to the grocery store, we cannot pass through the produce section without an atomic toddler meltdown if he can't get a armful of fresh vegetable to take as new toys. I have found these "toys" strewn about the house later, as he will inevitably retrieve them from their slumber out of the refrigerator. Some are half eaten by the dog, others are drawn on with pens and crayons, while the rest usually fall behind furniture and my wife and I are sent on a "find Archibald the Asparagus before he starts to rot and cause the house you smell like old urine" mission. I used to like eating vegetables. Now I love to eat them. Because in my mind, I am silencing the Silly Songs in my head. I feel like the Hannibal Lector of produce: "Can you still hear the Vegetables Singing, Clarice?"
Don't get me wrong. The Veggietales are fun videos with a positive message about God's love. But, just like any other children's show, it can definitely wear on the sanity of a parent after the six-hundredth viewing. Just like Dora the Explorer. I have dreamt a many a night the day when the grumpy old troll fills her backpack full of rocks and tosses her into the river while creating a stuffed mantle piece out of the talking monkey.
Wednesday night, I took all three kids to see "Veggietales" Live...by myself...for the first time. Gina had youth group and this was a one-night-only event. It was obvious to the veteran parents around me that this was my first kids' show on my own. The mother of three in the row directly in front of us kept turning to me and smiling a sweet, compassionate smile as James was screaming in her ear because he wanted to run down the stairs and onto the stage to dance with Larry. And when the squash came out, he stepped down, grabbed her face and did that thing that kids do. You know: teeth clenched, grunting loudly and shaking as if he were a phone set to vibrate.
There was a song in which all the cast members invited the kids in the audience to dance in front of the stage. Now, I have seen clips of The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show or tweens watching the Jonas Brothers exiting a limo, but I never thought I would ever see that kind of reaction from hundreds of tiny children. In one riotous movement, the seats were emptied and the front of the stage was swarmed with miniature hands sticking up, trying to catch a touch of the giant stuffed tomato costume. Luckily, security was blocking the way. Yes, security. The same black shirts with yellow writing you would see at a rock concert were standing (or kneeling, rather) with their arms outstretched, trying to prevent any breach that could possibly endanger the cast or disrupt the performance. The only thing that made me cringe at this sight was the idea that it would be my son that they would have to heave back into the crowd or drag away to the back of house while he was kicking and shouting obscenities.
Ultimately, we survived. The show ended, we picked up some souvenirs, and we left. But on the way home, I started thinking, "So, this is it?"
Over the last few years, I have started to feel my age and my position as a father. And it's not a bad thing; just different. When I was young, I loved concerts and live theatre. I took every opportunity to enjoy all kinds of genres in a variety of venues. When I was 16, my friends Mike and Robert and I snuck away on a road trip to Kansas City from Concordia to see Lollapalooza. After that, outdoor music festivals became a fixture for me. "Edgefest" in Omaha, "Jayhawk Fest" in Lawrence, and many others...Later, as I became of age to enter bars and clubs, I started seeking out smaller venues (The Beaumont, The Granada, The Uptown) to see musicians and acts that inspired me. B.B. King at the Lied Center, Band of Horses at City Market, Ingrid Michaelson at Knuckleheads...
But the other night, I realized where I was in life. It started with Jiggle Jam at Crown Center. A music festival for kids. Mr. Stinky Feet and They Might Be Giants headlined with arts and crafts and bubble station all around the grounds. We returned sunburned and exhausted, much like the music festivals of my youth. And then, for a "Grown-Up Date Night," I scored tickets to see Green Day at the Sprint Center a couple years ago. It was that night that I realized that I wasn't the hip, young guy I once was. My wife and I spent the entire show standing, trying to hear music from behind a group of screaming twenty-somethings, complaining that it was too loud and that our feet hurt. We tried again last fall, when we went to see Better Than Ezra at Power and Light. This was a lot more relaxed and laid back. Much more our style as of late. And given the era of popularity for this group, we were surrounded by a lot of like-minded people.
But being a dad is fun. And seeing the look at enjoyment on my kids' faces during and after a show in which a girl dressed up as a monkey performs cartwheels around the stage while giant vegetables serenade makes it all worth it. Let the young people have their mainstream shows. Because someday, it will be them echoing the phrase, "I can't believe I am saying this, but I am excited to see Toy Story on Ice."
All three of my children have gone through the "Veggietales" phase. But none as much as my youngest, James, is right now.
A couple of months ago, we received some of the silly vegetable videos as a gift, and since then, tomatoes and cucumbers have taken over our lives. They even have their own place in our nightly prayers..."God bless Daddy, God bless Mama, God bless Bob, God bless Larry..." In fact, anytime we go to the grocery store, we cannot pass through the produce section without an atomic toddler meltdown if he can't get a armful of fresh vegetable to take as new toys. I have found these "toys" strewn about the house later, as he will inevitably retrieve them from their slumber out of the refrigerator. Some are half eaten by the dog, others are drawn on with pens and crayons, while the rest usually fall behind furniture and my wife and I are sent on a "find Archibald the Asparagus before he starts to rot and cause the house you smell like old urine" mission. I used to like eating vegetables. Now I love to eat them. Because in my mind, I am silencing the Silly Songs in my head. I feel like the Hannibal Lector of produce: "Can you still hear the Vegetables Singing, Clarice?"
Don't get me wrong. The Veggietales are fun videos with a positive message about God's love. But, just like any other children's show, it can definitely wear on the sanity of a parent after the six-hundredth viewing. Just like Dora the Explorer. I have dreamt a many a night the day when the grumpy old troll fills her backpack full of rocks and tosses her into the river while creating a stuffed mantle piece out of the talking monkey.
Wednesday night, I took all three kids to see "Veggietales" Live...by myself...for the first time. Gina had youth group and this was a one-night-only event. It was obvious to the veteran parents around me that this was my first kids' show on my own. The mother of three in the row directly in front of us kept turning to me and smiling a sweet, compassionate smile as James was screaming in her ear because he wanted to run down the stairs and onto the stage to dance with Larry. And when the squash came out, he stepped down, grabbed her face and did that thing that kids do. You know: teeth clenched, grunting loudly and shaking as if he were a phone set to vibrate.
There was a song in which all the cast members invited the kids in the audience to dance in front of the stage. Now, I have seen clips of The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show or tweens watching the Jonas Brothers exiting a limo, but I never thought I would ever see that kind of reaction from hundreds of tiny children. In one riotous movement, the seats were emptied and the front of the stage was swarmed with miniature hands sticking up, trying to catch a touch of the giant stuffed tomato costume. Luckily, security was blocking the way. Yes, security. The same black shirts with yellow writing you would see at a rock concert were standing (or kneeling, rather) with their arms outstretched, trying to prevent any breach that could possibly endanger the cast or disrupt the performance. The only thing that made me cringe at this sight was the idea that it would be my son that they would have to heave back into the crowd or drag away to the back of house while he was kicking and shouting obscenities.
Ultimately, we survived. The show ended, we picked up some souvenirs, and we left. But on the way home, I started thinking, "So, this is it?"
Over the last few years, I have started to feel my age and my position as a father. And it's not a bad thing; just different. When I was young, I loved concerts and live theatre. I took every opportunity to enjoy all kinds of genres in a variety of venues. When I was 16, my friends Mike and Robert and I snuck away on a road trip to Kansas City from Concordia to see Lollapalooza. After that, outdoor music festivals became a fixture for me. "Edgefest" in Omaha, "Jayhawk Fest" in Lawrence, and many others...Later, as I became of age to enter bars and clubs, I started seeking out smaller venues (The Beaumont, The Granada, The Uptown) to see musicians and acts that inspired me. B.B. King at the Lied Center, Band of Horses at City Market, Ingrid Michaelson at Knuckleheads...
But the other night, I realized where I was in life. It started with Jiggle Jam at Crown Center. A music festival for kids. Mr. Stinky Feet and They Might Be Giants headlined with arts and crafts and bubble station all around the grounds. We returned sunburned and exhausted, much like the music festivals of my youth. And then, for a "Grown-Up Date Night," I scored tickets to see Green Day at the Sprint Center a couple years ago. It was that night that I realized that I wasn't the hip, young guy I once was. My wife and I spent the entire show standing, trying to hear music from behind a group of screaming twenty-somethings, complaining that it was too loud and that our feet hurt. We tried again last fall, when we went to see Better Than Ezra at Power and Light. This was a lot more relaxed and laid back. Much more our style as of late. And given the era of popularity for this group, we were surrounded by a lot of like-minded people.
But being a dad is fun. And seeing the look at enjoyment on my kids' faces during and after a show in which a girl dressed up as a monkey performs cartwheels around the stage while giant vegetables serenade makes it all worth it. Let the young people have their mainstream shows. Because someday, it will be them echoing the phrase, "I can't believe I am saying this, but I am excited to see Toy Story on Ice."
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