Stomp and the Angel-Usher

I bought five tickets to see the broad-way show STOMP.  All five of us would go, have a wonderful time, and every one of us would be equally entertained.  I was sure of it.  So the big day came yesterday.  I could hardly contain my excitement...we don't often do things like this.  I packed bags, made sure we had the appropriate provisions and we waltzed in to the middle of the orchestra section with our small children in tow.  They seemed amused with the lights.  Everyone was rather loud anyway...in fact, there were people with cerebral palsy in wheelchairs all around us making funny noises...we would hardly be noticed.

The show started and my kids were mostly captivated and literally on the edge of their seats.
Everyone except June.
June was squirming around, waving her arms in the air, being unusually loud.  She ended up on the floor.  I thought...fine, she won't swat someone in the head.  Not ten minutes in, she started crying...the crying you can't ignore.  I picked her up and very inappropriately shoved my way through the audience making my way for the sidelines...where all the people in wheelchairs sat.  I thought we'd feel at home there.  I was wrong. The door-usher informed me that we couldn't stand and she opened the door and basically shoved us out.

I exited the show area and realized right then and there I had forgotten some very important things:
June's shoes and socks
My purse and cell phone
Which had diapers and wipes in it.

June had poopy pants.

I tried to be strong, I did, but as I rounded the corner I burst into tears uncontrollably.  This wasn't how things were supposed to go.  We were supposed to do something as a family. For fun.  Without attendants. June was supposed to love every minute of the thumping and tapping of the show, not hate to be in there.

At that moment, a very kind  angel-usher appeared, grabbing both my hands and telling me that there were televisions we could watch and that he would help us find a seat in the back...I smiled and nodded and followed June as she was heading up the stairs.  I knew where she was going...to obsess over lines, angles and light bouncing off of glass.  The angel-usher meant well, I thought, but he doesn't know my daughter.

I pulled myself together and followed June up to the second floor where we sat in a chair, and June stuck her legs over the railing.  The lady-usher below told me that she couldn't do that.  I whisked her away to the third floor.  She made her way in between a bench and the side of the glass wall where she felt secure, I guess, looking around at all the lines, squares and rectangles.  Again, an usher came up to me and said we couldn't do that. Well what in the world can we do without shoes, socks and a fresh diaper?

By now I was crying hard.  Mascara was running down my face, my hair was all disheveled and I was positive I looked crazy.  I told the usher that I really needed to get my purse (I didn't tell him that my daughter has a history of eating poop).  He sent me on the elevator down to the first floor where the bless-ed angel-usher was waiting for us.

He took both of my hands again and said, "Don't you worry about this. Everything will be okay.  I will watch your daughter while you go find your purse. Then we will find you seats in the back."

I left my daughter with the angel- usher-stranger while I made my way back into the pitch-black sea of sitting bodies.  I couldn't see.  Plus, the door-usher was getting irritated with me.  I came back out.

The angel-usher saved the day and busted  into the show with his flashlight,  miraculously finding my purse.  He handed it to me with a big grin, totally acting like he was Superman...and he was.  Thanking him profusely, I grabbed June and found a bathroom where I could change her pants, wipe my eyes and pray for vision...the vision to see why my afternoon was spent in The Sandler Center Atrium...not watching the show.

I came back out and watched some of the show on the TV and when it was almost over, I ran again to find the angel-usher.  I asked him his name.  He said,  "My name is Joe."  He went on to explain to me that he had a 14 year old profoundly autistic grandson and he knew how hard it was. It had gotten to the point where they were putting him in a group home.  He believed it was the best place for him.  I understood.

I said, "Thank you for blessing me today. I know why I had to leave the show now.  So you could bless me."

And then I walked away...