Rob drove us to the Revels in Cambridge because my car has has an oxygen sensor that is acting up. He thought he was being a generous chauffeur, but after Lily got carsick reading and threw up a half hour into the ride, he was ready to turn around and go home. "No!" we all yelled and we carried on.
Going to the Christmas Revels is something my sister and I have done for 23 years. We found it one year on our quest for a spiritual magical holiday tradition that was not Christian based. We had been going to church on Christmas Eve for the candles and the singing, but we were not raised Christian, the rest of the family did not join us. We just wanted somewhere to celebrate the season. But we weren't comfortable in any church. We didn't know what to do when the people stood and sat in unison and usually the sermon would would injure some deep part of our feminine spiritual selves. My sister must have found the revels when she was living in Boston and finally we found our home. It is inclusive, welcoming, funny and uplifiting. We get to join hands and sing and dance during the intermission. It was all we wanted.
I have been so thrilled to share it with my children. My parents started coming a few years after my sister discovered it. My girls have come every year except for the year Georgia was born (maybe during the performance?) My sister had to scalp our tickets, "My sister's in labor. Anyone need a ticket?"
Sanders theater, where the revels is held, is my Hogwarts. It gives me hope for the world that such a luminescent beautiful place exists. It is brimming with stained glass but it's not a church; it's a theater. Perfect.
So I was deeply hurt and annoyed after the performance when the girls told Rob it was boring and he declared we should skip it next year, "WHAT?" I felt such rage and rejection; I had to deep breathe all the way home. "How could they? Boring? Singing and dancing? People in costumes? What's wrong with them?"
I find one of my biggest places of disappointment as a parent is when I have cultivated something so tenderly for the mythical children I thought I would have (There were supposed to be 6 or so of them, but that's another story) and the children I actually have don't really dig it. Ouch.
I had a bit of a tantrum. They denied saying it was boring. Rob raised his eyebrows, but kept quiet. I think they partly said it to appease our grumpy driver who abhors musical theater. (I used to drag him to the performance but I stopped. Now he just drinks coffee and shops in Harvard Square or stays home.)
The next day my sister reminded me we could go without them and maybe they'll want to come another year.
I think I might drag them, against their will. Damnit.
See, I'm smiling.