Embrace the season of rebirth
LAST weekend was merry. First, came our grandson’s small Saturday christening service, full of friendship, family and hilarity — when the rumbustious two-year-old repeatedly threw his dinosaurs into the font.
‘What is Easter about?’ asked the vicar. One of our five-yearolds mentioned eggs, the other said that Jesus rose from the dead. Both right!
The group of lovely people included my daughter’s godson (eight); in his wheelchair, Max’s new godfather Steve, who lost both legs in Afghanistan; and of course my parents, so happy to be a part of everything in their 90s, chatting to the young.
Then Sunday evening saw us at the Theatre Royal Bath, for Raising The Barre — the epic once-every-five-years show performed by Bath’s Dorothy Coleborn School of Dancing.
Aged three to 18, a vast number of kids danced (to all kinds of music), sang and performed their socks off in front of a packed audience of proud parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles, and friends. I reckon we saw some future stars that night.
Granddaughter Chloe (five) was on stage for all of five minutes, but we were all so thrilled to see her twirl. But that wasn’t the best part. No, it’s that your eyes well with tears of affection and pride and you yell and clap . . . for other people’s children. Yes, all of them.
Their pure talent and energy, and the effort they’d put in (and their teachers, of course), was balm for the soul. There was so much love in that auditorium.
Both the baptism and the glorious show made me feel so optimistic. And isn’t this the true message of Easter?
As I say to Mimi in my main answer, this season of rebirth urges us to let spring enter our souls and open our hearts to a world where ‘anything can happen if you let it’. Where fantastic young people (who are the future) pour their own hearts and souls into the sheer joy of music and song. And where even a funny plastic dinosaur can be blessed by holy water.
Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, london W8 5TT, or email firstname.lastname@example.org. A pseudonym will be used if you wish. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.