The next afternoon, his mother opened her front door and found a woman standing there with a clipboard, a bright sash, and a registration packet. Behind her were two smiling volunteers asking whether she was ready for the “Miss Golden Years Showcase” orientation meeting. Someone had entered her name, paid the registration fee, and signed her up for rehearsals.
My mother-in-law looked horrified. She kept saying there had to be some mistake. The volunteer cheerfully explained that according to the paperwork, she was a perfect candidate and everyone was excited to see her participate. That’s when my husband stepped out from behind the volunteers. He wasn’t smiling. He simply asked, “How does it feel having someone decide what’s best for you without asking first?”
For a second she just stared at him. Then she started listing all the reasons she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t have time. She hadn’t agreed. She didn’t like being put on display. Every reason that came out of her mouth sounded exactly like the reasons we’d given about our daughter. My husband waited until she was finished and quietly said, “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you.” The volunteers weren’t actually expecting her to compete. They’d agreed to help make a point after hearing the story. Once they left, she stood on the porch holding that registration packet and looking more embarrassed than angry.
A few days later she came over carrying the pageant sash she’d given our daughter. She sat at our kitchen table and admitted she’d gotten carried away with her own vision of who our little girl should be. Then she turned to our daughter and said, “I should’ve asked your mom and dad first. And I should’ve asked what you wanted too.”
That weekend the sash sat forgotten on a chair while my daughter spent the afternoon in the backyard building a crooked blanket fort with her cousins. Her hair was a mess, her knees were grass-stained, and she laughed so hard she could barely catch her breath. Nobody was judging her. Nobody was scoring her. She looked exactly like a six-year-old should.