The Missed Audition and the Gift of Responsibility
- Catherine Addor
- Dec 11, 2025
- 2 min read
My daughter was auditioning for the Spring High School Musical. The schedule was clear: acting and singing one afternoon, the dance audition two days later. Easy enough to remember.
The morning of the dance audition, I casually reminded her. She rolled her eyes with a very teenage, “I KNOWWWWW.”
(Translation: Mom, please, I am fully competent and also deeply annoyed you believe otherwise.)
That afternoon, my phone rang at work. Hysterical sobbing.
She had gotten on the bus on autopilot (muscle memory overriding intention) and had forgotten to stay for the audition. She begged me to come get her. If I could be home immediately and drive the 20 minutes back to the school, she could still make it.
Except I was an hour away.
My mental emergency contact list flipped wildly: neighbors, friends, coaches, anyone who could pinch hit. No one. I felt that familiar parental panic rise: Solve it. Fix it. Rescue her.
Then came the guilt spiral: I should have sent a good-luck text during her last period. Why didn’t I remind her again? Why didn’t I anticipate this?
Of course, moms apparently control the space-time continuum.
Then, I hit pause.
I backed up my emotions.
I understood: this was her moment to learn, not mine to save.
What was I really afraid of?
That she would blame me for her mistake?
That she would miss out?
That she would hurt, and I couldn’t protect her from it?
Instead of swooping in, I encouraged her to email the director, honestly explaining what happened. I knew it was unlikely she’d be given a second chance. And she wasn’t.
Something else happened.
The director offered her a spot on the costume crew.
She can sew. She is artistic. She has vision. Her talents found space to shine.
She was sad, disappointed, and embarrassed. She felt the sting of responsibility.
She learned.
Humility. Ownership. Adaptability.
All things that no amount of parental rescuing can teach.
I learned too.
When have I rushed in to spare someone I love discomfort, and why?
What lessons do we unintentionally steal from our children when we solve everything for them?
How often do our fears masquerade as helpfulness?
As educators and as parents, we talk about growth mindset, resilience, and authentic problem-solving. These don’t develop in moments where adults pre-empt every struggle. They grow in the space between “I made a mistake” and “I figured out what to do next.”
My daughter didn’t get the part she wanted.
She gained something more durable than a role: the confidence that comes from navigating her own missteps and discovering a new way to belong.
Sometimes the most powerful teaching we do is the support we don’t give.
The space we allow.
The discomfort we don’t erase.
The belief that our children are capable of rising, even when we cannot catch them.
That lesson?
It lasts far longer than a musical.
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