The Parable of the Talent Show

For Andrea Vij, the memory of her son’s fourth-grade talent show offers a good lesson for the present day.  

I remember the scene clearly, especially the part where I laughed so hard that I cried. My son’s after-school program had put together a talent show, and my husband and I squeezed into the gym with the other parents to watch.

We saw tumbling, baton twirling, rope jumping, and violin playing. A group of little girls in sequined leotards performed a dance routine with no discernible ending, but we clapped like mad when the music stopped and they all wandered away. One courageous fifth grader took a few half-court shots with a basketball, and when he finally sank one, the crowd went wild.

A Surprising Talent

My son, in fourth grade at the time, had plenty of talent. He could tell jokes. He could do magic tricks. He could play “Hot Cross Buns” on three different instruments: recorder, trombone, and piano. But when I asked him a few days before the show what he planned to do, his answer surprised me.

“I’m going to not blink for a really long time.”

Not blink? I never knew he had a talent for not blinking, or that such a talent even existed. But, as my son proceeded to tell me, the kids in his after-school program knew about it and found it pretty impressive. In fact, the after-school director liked the idea so much that he’d agreed to play a recording of the Jeopardy!® theme during my son’s act to keep the audience on the edge of their seats.*

It sounded crazy, but I held my tongue and worried in silence. What if all the other kids got up and shared normal talents like playing the clarinet, singing a song, or juggling? Would my son feel intimidated? Embarrassed? Scarred for life?

On the day of the talent show, when my son’s turn finally came, the emcee — a sweet girl whose family lived two streets away from us — picked up the microphone, introduced him by name, and announced without a speck of irony, “He’s going to not blink for a really long time.”

Curious whispers filled the room as he walked confidently toward the front and turned to face the audience. I glanced over my shoulder to find my husband standing in the back with the other dads. He caught my eye and winked. Then the music began.

The Tension Builds

Like a soldier called to attention, my son stood tall, his eyes open wide and fixed determinedly on a spot just over our heads in the back of the room. Seconds passed like centuries as the music played. People around me began to giggle, but he didn’t flinch. They began to laugh, but he didn’t budge.

Then came the key change. You know the second half of the Jeopardy song, when the melody gets higher and the tension really starts to build? It’s sink or swim, win or lose.

I held my breath and kept my eyes on my son. Surely he would blink, buckle under the pressure, or at least wiggle a bit. But no, he stared with cool resolve at the back wall, his eyes unyielding.

People began to clap and cheer, laughing harder and harder as the excitement grew. I couldn’t believe my 10-year-old had captivated an entire audience simply by standing still and staring at a wall. It was ridiculous and wonderful and hilarious and absurd all at the same time — and yes, I laughed so hard that I cried.

At last the music ended. The audience roared, and in a gesture of victory, my son pumped his fist into the air. As he took a quick bow and returned to his seat, I looked over my shoulder and saw the other dads patting my husband on the back. All I could do was laugh and wipe my eyes.

After the show, the other parents sought us out. “That was amazing!” they gushed. “He was so funny, we couldn’t stop laughing!” Weeks later we bumped into friends at the grocery store and they immediately brought up the talent show. “He was the best act in the whole show!” they raved. Why had I ever worried?

The Lesson

Like any parable, The Parable of the Talent Show comes with a lesson — several lessons, in fact, but I’ll focus on the one that really hits home.

Seven years ago, my son flipped the script on his talent show by doing something completely unexpected — or rather, by NOT doing something expected. The lesson: Sometimes it’s not what we do, but what we don’t do, that makes a difference.

Now that he’s a teenager, I long to tell my son all the things I’ve learned along the way, much of it through trial and error. I could talk about it all day long, if only he would listen. But we’ve reached the point where he doesn’t need more of my talking. He needs more of my NOT talking.

Sometimes it’s not what we do, but what we don’t do, that makes a difference.

Time to Wander

I think sometimes about the Old Testament Israelites who wandered in the desert for forty years, not because God couldn’t tell them exactly how to fix their problems, but because they needed time to figure things out for themselves. How frustrating it must have been for God to watch His beloved children mess up over and over again, even as He sustained them and rescued them from their own mistakes. But He couldn’t just tell them what they needed to know. They had to learn the hard way.

At age ten, my son’s eyes were wide open, but at seventeen, his ears have closed — not because he’s distant or unreachable, but because he needs time to wander and figure things out, like the Israelites. He needs to make his own mistakes and learn from them. But oh, how hard it is to stand back and let that happen.

It turns out you can learn a lot about parenting from a grade-school talent show. I’m still amazed at the impact a 10-year-old boy could have on a roomful of people just by standing still and not blinking. As for me, I hope and pray that I can have an impact on that very same boy by standing back and not talking.

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Copyright 2026 Andrea Vij
Images: Canva

 *The Jeopardy! theme song is protected by copyright, but a license is not required to use it in a grade school talent show.