Well… I am a numbers-guy after all (so long as I can use both my fingers and toes).  Heck, gray suits are the norm in my profession; the fact that we all wear khaki’s now only means that we have to switch to the BBB (Blue Business Blazer).

Fortunately, this is not about being professional; those of you who know me know better.  It is about managing the house at the annual Nutcracker that I’ve been a part of for at least 50 years.  Yep, I try to be professional there (meaning I wear a blazer, of course).

A bit of explanation for those who do not know the background.  I volunteer as president (again, how the heck did THAT happen) for a non-profit ballet company (and we do mean non-profit).  There is a certain irony here that our treasurer and a certain mattress retailer have in common.

Six years ago we started a tradition of the Outreach Show – we gave away an entire performance for underprivileged families and their children.  After our second year’s performance (I was still in the cast, an error in judgement that they have since rectified. I can do a lot less damage as president after all) I wrote my thoughts about that the experience, and these still ring true today. I spoke of the “Fourth Wall”, the wall that separates our dancers on stage from the audience of less-than-fortunate kids. I considered it a treasure that they can come together.

I always think “why the heck do we do it”.  We’ve established that I am not professional, that I have no skills in guiding a profitable business, that I cannot dance, and have the social skills of a small child.  And That’s Why – I got a big hug from a little girl in a gray Christmas Sweater.  I ended my story as follows:

In the end, it’s probably true that neither side of the wall has given much thought to any of this.  The dancers are back to school and friends, the flowers they received at the performance have wilted, and Grandma has gone home.  The audience goes back to their jobs and lives, whatever those might be.  Truth is, neither the dancers or the audience will probably ever meet again, which seems like a shame.

For me, I got a hug. It made my day. Wherever she is, I wish that little girl a very Merry Christmas. (12/17/03)

In the years that have passed, many families have come through and seen the outreach show.  We have had small offerings of thanks from people who otherwise cannot offer to thank. We’ve made sure to teach our dancers about this show and the good it does for these families.  Consider that a Christmas wish kept.

But this year I realized I was wrong in one assumption (wait, only one?).  We can meet again.   In our first show of the season, a little girl about 9 or 10 was there with her family, dressed in pink.  She had a round face and a big smile.  And she had been to the show years before, but could not remember it. She was ever so cute, and I am convinced, if for no other reason than I want to be, that she is the same little girl in the gray Christmas Sweater. No hugs, but a high five and a smile are more than enough.

And the next day, a family came early. Very early. Before anyone else, and Before the tickets arrived for them. An uncomfortable mom, dressed nicely, and her 3 kids.  The littlest one, Lillie, was maybe 4 or 5.  And she wore a little gray Christmas Sweater.

She was “s’Cared”. She pronounced it as “Cared”, and it never occurred to me how close and yet how different those two words are and how that difference explains so much.  She looked downward, even farther when I got kneeled down.  I don’t blame her – I’d be pretty scared of a man in a blue blazer if I were her, plus she has the obvious intelligence to realize that it’s me she’s talking to.  I showed her the merchandise table with little snow globes and nutcrackers galore. No, said her mom, we can’t buy anything. Sometimes I do right – I took them to the refreshment table and got the kids a few cookies.  I made a friend.  That was where this story should have ended.

Well I saw her at intermission, and again after the show.  She was still s’Cared, but here’s the thing.  I kneeled down and she ran up and gave me a hug. Not once but twice. And once again it made my day.

She may have been scared, but to me it showed that she cared.

That’s it – Life is not the black and white difference of who is on the stage or who is not. Like her sweater, it is the gray area in between. Beyond the obvious, the older I get the harder it is for me to see the difference between those two sides of the curtain. We are all scared, and we all still care.  And that is why we do it. Perhaps all it takes is a little girl in a gray Christmas Sweater to bridge the gulf and show us what we all have in common. Thanks to 2 little girls, I think gray is my favorite Christmas Color.