“Let’s sit in the front row.” These words sprang enthusiastically from the lips of our middle son, Chad, a 10 year old who likes to be right at the center of the action. It was almost time for the Christmas production of a local mega-church to start, and all the good seats were taken, as they say, except the very front row.

Now, just the fact that they were still empty should have been a clue. I guess we’re a little slow on the uptake, so we go along with our son’s needling and slide up to the front just as the lights begin to dim. The stage is three feet from our noses. Maybe closer since our 7 year old discovered he could prop his feet up there and make himself quite at home. I’m just giving him the stern shake of the head when the automatic spotlight in front of Kevin springs to life and shines 4,000 watts into his face. I’m guessing he’ll see spots the rest of the show.

The beam finally finds another home, and we have a laugh and settle back. The music is amazing, and I’m fully appreciating the talent and time that went into the production when the robed choir comes out. Moments later, I’m staring face to toe with a dozen pair of black, shiny shoes. Even if I wanted to look the shoes' owners in the eyes, which I didn’t, it would have put a kink in my neck the size of the thick black cords knotted at my feet.

The choir moves toward the back of the stage, sounding glorious, I might add, but I’m happy for a little distance. The view from the front seat is not as great as you might think. But apparently everyone else knew that already. That’s why they were empty.

I look over at Chad. “Great seats,” I mouth to him.

He shrugs. “I like it,” he insists. He would.

Just when I think we’re in the clear, another group comes out. Interpretive dancers. Now, no one enjoys interpretive dancing more than I, but again, distance is good. One should not have to duck to avoid getting kicked in the face. I look at Kevin and his back is flattened against the pew. I’ve never seen such good posture.

Chad looks at me, his clamped lips holding back a giggle.

“Thanks a lot,” I mouth. He’s getting just a little too much enjoyment out of this, so when a line of pajama clad kids lined up three feet from our noses—kids from his own class at school—I just had to look and see if Chad still thought so highly of our seats.

I’m pretty sure the red on his face wasn’t from one of the spotlights, and judging from his friends’ faces, they weren’t too thrilled either. When the kids sashayed their way off the stage, I just had to flash Chad a great big smile.

Awkward seating aside, the production was wonderfully, expertly done and did what it was supposed to do—allow us to focus on the true meaning of Christmas. Next year, though, if we show up just before curtain call, I think we’ll take our chances with the back pew. And I don’t think we’ll hear a word of complaint from our middle child.