Don't Be Late, Daddy!

“Don’t be late, Daddy!” my little girl reminded me as she tore into the school.
“I won’t be. Don’t worry.” I watched her until she ran up the stairs, turned the corner and was gone, and then headed to my café for my eagerly anticipated cappuccino and cornetto. Then home to do some writing. I was working on a fictionalized TV series about the Foreign Legion, and at the moment was in the middle of writing a love scene between legion Captain Marcello Guida and his Arab sweetheart, Fatima, whose father was a chief, a very violent man, who wanted Marcello’s head.
I worked all morning and into the early afternoon when, halfway through a battle scene, I switched off the computer, and Stella and I walked to the school to watch our little girl’s end of term play.
She was playing the lead role of the Whale, which had entailed some sleepless nights while putting the costume together. Actually, it wasn’t bad; not as good as Alberto’s Portuguese man-of-war costume, but we were proud nonetheless. Alberto was the brainiest child in the class – his parents both being scientists – and didn’t have a shy bone in his body. And he was in love with Becky. Some days the phone would ring off the hook: “Buona sera, may I speak to Becky, please?” Alberto would ask. Time and time again. It got to the point when a frazzled Becky, who hated to lie, would beg me to tell Alberto that she was out visiting her grandmother, and wouldn’t be back for two or three hours. This usually gave us a respite, but sometimes Alberto, having lulled us into a false sense of security, would ring before the time was up and say: “Could you tell Backy I called, please, and ask her to ring me back, please?” YES, ALL RIGHT! He was always very polite.
Stella and I took our places in the school’s tiny theatre and settled down to be entertained. The curtain opened, and we were presented with a pretty good cross-section of marine life, from Becky’s Whale to a Swordfish, to a Hammerhead Shark… We Mums and Dads smiled proudly. I even noticed a Mum and Dad shed a tear or two. It’s impossible not to be affected. The children are so serious up there, their faces working overtime as they strive to remember their lines, and looking at whoever had to speak next.
Well, we weren’t long into the play (a sort of impoverished version of ‘Finding Nemo’) when Marco, the little boy in Becky’s class with Down Syndrome, who was playing the Turtle, lost his way and started wandering aimlessly around the stage. Without hesitating, Becky took Marco’s hand in hers and for the rest of the play led him around the stage, whispering the occasional word of encouragement. He smiled at her and, confidence restored, even echoed some of her lines. The entire audience sighed in unison.  It was an extraordinary moment, felt by us all.
Marco’s parents turned and smiled their gratitude at us. I returned the smile on behalf of that wonderful little girl on the stage.
The play came to an end and I shoot to my feet (the only parent to do so) and gave Becky the Whale a standing ovation, my voice drowning out all others.  "Brava!  Brava!"
Becky smiled at me and, shaking her head, mouthed: “Oh, Daddy!”

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