Wow! That Was Just Like In The Movies . . .

WHAM! BANG!

The gymnasium door swung open with great fervor and impetuous flair.

I had found an out of the way corner behind The Sound Man and his computer screen vantage point once again. The next scene up was my son, and I wanted to catch the action live and in person.

This time, The Aussie and he were surrounded by a group of boys, featured extras, who were part and parcel of the setting by way of visual descriptors.

Little dinner jackets and ties, button up shirts with starched collars and polished shoes.

It was all part of the ambiance to be included in the shot. Rehearsal had gone swimmingly, and the last boy was hurried into place, a straggler of sorts, while wardrobe put the finishing touches on his final appearance before pushing him through the door to the gym.

"Take 1! Roll 'em ~ and . . . ACTION!"

All was well. Then, suddenly ~

WHAM! BANG!

The gymnasium door swung open with great fervor and impetuous flair.

From my vantage point, the door opened toward me, hiding briefly the frame of the lad who had just been pushed in moments before ~ but that hidden stance was over in a blink of an eye.

A hand put to the mouth, a panicked expression, and the loss of the contents of his nervous stomach spewed out in a desperate attempt to find a trash can gone awry.

Fortunately, crew members had moved aside in the course of their duties, so no human was spewed upon in the moment of embarrassing truth - the boy had butterflies beyond belief, and he couldn't. take. it. anymore.

The first wave brought temporary relief as he then quickly retreated to a nearby receptacle, and continued his unabashed horking.

Meanwhile, the show was going on! Not one crew member was able to stop what they were doing to assist in any way ~ so it was obvious that I, Studio Mom, would have to take up the cause.

I stepped out from my little corner and headed toward the boy. I quickly assessed that he would be unable to articulate any type of answer to any question I might pose, so I then calculated a move toward the closest person with a headset, slightly off duty, in conversation and oblivious to the activity going on behind her.

"Are you in Wardrobe?" I asked her.

"No. Is there a problem?" she asked.

I pointed behind her, to the little boy, obviously still in great distress.

"Oh, my." she said. "I'll call wardrobe right away."

"CUT!"

The timing couldn't have been better, as the stopping of the cameras afforded one of the assistant directors the opportunity to finally turn his attention to the troubled lad.

"Are you okay?" he ventured, while the Headseted One and I approached to inform him that help was on the way.

If I hadn't of seen it with my own eyes, I might have thought it was planned, and the special effects thereof painstakingly executed to give the appearance of realism.

But no.

It happened. Just like in the movies . . .

Poor lad. Crashed and burned big time. I pray it doesn't scar him for life, the embarrassment of it all . . .