Amy sings about God in a very serious tone, matching gestures to her words: "My heart tells my eyes to look up and my feet to march on." A natural born ham, an inventor of song, a pro in the spotlight — she is 5 and the oldest of the lot.
Adam, my grandson, is 4. When it’s his turn to perform on the bottom step of the stairs leading to my backyard — a step that this summer has become center stage — he sings out in a booming voice, "I can show you the world, shining, shimmering, splendid."
Matty, Amy's 4 year old brother, croons a Johnny Mathis song, "Wonderful, Wonderful," which brings down the house. (Okay, so the house is stacked with parents, grandparents, and siblings. But the boy is good. He has the moves. Plus, he’s earnest.) And then it's Lucy’s turn — Lucy, my granddaughter who has been clapping for everyone else and patiently waiting. She races to the step, turns to face the audience, smiles her Judy Garland sweet/shy grin, then belts out "Doe, a deer a female deer/ Ray, a drop of golden sun."
This, my friends, is the Beckham Backyard Talent Show brought to us by children who aren't yet old enough to be embarrassed to be singing a little off key. This is fun. This is center stage. This is everyone having a good time. And the kids having the adults’ total attention.
So there's no need to prod the talent to get up and strut their stuff. No begging them for more. More is what they want. More song. More applause. More of us cheering them on.
Matty returns for an encore and this time he sings, "I Can Show You the World." Adam performs his graduation from preschool song “Graduation, graduation, graduation day is here,” taking some cues from Amy and adding hand gestures. Lucy dazzles us with a tune from the film Enchanted. And Amy acts out another made-up song about God and his infinite love.
And then she says "Mimi, it’s your turn," and without hesitation I get up and make a fool of myself, singing a Cinderella song and pretending that I am Cinderella. “In my brand new gown, with my upswept hair,/ I’m Cinderella standing here.” The kids laugh. The adults laugh harder. And on it goes, all of us performing and clapping and smiling.
This is a new take on an old pastime, nothing original. Didn’t we all have talent shows when we were kids and when our kids were kids? I used to sing with my best friend Rosemary on a cement slab my father dubbed "the patio," my small hand next to his big one imprinted on the outer edge, because I was his helper the afternoon he mixed and poured the cement.
My mother, a singer and veteran of real talent shows, would yell to Rosemary and me, "Smile, girls, smile."And we would, as we danced and sang, "Hello, hello, hello again./ Time to start the show again," then, “I hear the cottonwoods whisperin’ above,/ Tammy, Tammy, Tammy’s in love.”
Then in a blink it was my daughter Lauren singing and dancing with her best friend, Amy. Sashaying down the winding staircase that led to their stage, the foyer of Amy’s big house. "Watch me, Mommy. Watch me."
We watched for years, Amy's mother and I, applauding and cheering. And then as suddenly as these talent shows started, they stopped.
This newest incarnation of the Original Amateur Hour began as most things do, out of desperation, as a diversion to Adam screaming, "It’s my ball, Matty! Give it back to me." Matty on the ground shrieking.
"Did you push him, Adam?"
"I didn’t mean to."
Adam shrieking. Then both Matty and Adam crying.
One more failed lesson in sharing.
There are no failed lessons in the art of public performance. The kids get up and sing together. The adults applaud. The adults get up and sing together and the kids applaud.
The one rule is that everyone pays attention to the performer. No talking allowed when someone is on stage. And because there is always someone begging for a turn, the afternoon turns into a joyful one.
"Can we come back and do this again?" Amy asks as she’s leaving. "This was so much fun."
"Definitely," I tell her. Because it was fun not just for the kids, but for everyone.
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