You Don’t Even Seem to Care.
Shane is a songwriter. It is a talent he’s had forever, that I didn’t even recognize as a talent, until about six months ago when his church choir director pulled me aside and explained.
He’s gifted.
The choir director then asked if Shane could write a song for the choir, and offered to have the group perform it at church.
Shane was elated. This was validation of his talent, and something he could do. Better yet, he was writing a song for God! And for Shane, there is nothing better.
So he wrote the song, sang it into a voice recorder, and then we had it transcribed into sheet music. It turned out to be about the baby Jesus, so the choir decided to perform the song at their Christmas concert. And practice for that concert is limited – only three practices! – so Shane was going to teach the choir his song at the first practice.
But he missed the first practice – because Shane’s mother forgot to take him.
The next day I got an email from the choir director who, of course, had to teach the song without him. She asked if he was sick.
No, I thought, his mother is sick. She totally forgot the day of the week!
Some weeks, I can’t remember what day it is without great effort. On this day, apparently, I didn’t remember what day it was until the next day.
I beat myself up over breakfast. First, I reprimanded Shane for not remembering. He said, “I thought it was next week.”
Then, I apologized profusely because I knew it was this week. I knew it, and for whatever reason, I totally missed it. I was still apologizing to Shane on the ride to school.
He seemed nonplussed.
“I am really upset about this,” I told him. “But you don’t even seem to care.”
“I care,” he said. “But there are two more practices left. I can teach them next week.”
“Yes but,” I said, “aren’t you really upset with me for not getting you to something that’s so important?”
“No,” he said. “Because it’s not your fault that you forgot. I forget stuff all the time.”
I turned around and stared at him. I was almost crying, but his eyes were dry. He was casually looking back at me. There was no animosity, no judgment, not even a minor crushed spirit.
Shane cared. But he didn’t moan or whine or become overwhelmed with regret. He just moved on, contented, with his life.
So I did, too.