Pride, joy, hope

Earlier tonight, I attended Scott's last school concert. Both he and Sarah have been lifers at their school, starting there with pre-kindergarten and continuing to high-school graduation. (Scott's not quite there, but soon enough, he will be.) Both have played violin for almost the entire time. I've missed few of their concerts--and hated missing those--but there was no way I was going to miss this one.

I'm so glad I was there. I found it a very moving experience.

I've written before about school concerts, and I've generally enjoyed them. This one, though, was special for several reasons. Being Scott's last, of course, was the main one. He's always shown musical talent, but he's grown into a fine violinist who has an understanding of music playing that I will never approach. I was so very proud of him tonight; I doubt he'll ever understand just how proud I am.

The program also did something at the end that the school has not done for several years: It brought together on the stage the lower school, middle school, and upper school orchestras. In this picture, which I snapped with my phone, you can get a sense of how many kids were up there playing together. (As always, click on it for a larger image.)


I have to apologize, by the way, to the conductor, because in the odd lighting this photo makes him appear headless. (I'll write more about him tomorrow.)

Scott, by the way, is sitting first chair next to a middle-school violinist.

The merged orchestra sounded wonderful. The two short pieces they played were understandably not the most complex, but I loved them. They ended with the finale from Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, and I could not help but be filled with joy.

Staring at all those kids, youngsters ranging from first grade to twelfth, I also felt something I do not feel often enough: hope. My generation and my parents' have not taken care of the planet the way we should, and I often despair of the future, but when I see bright children coming together for a common cause and producing such beauty, I find I can believe that humanity can fix its problems, and I resolve again to do my part.

Staying connected

I find it easy to feel disconnected from the world. It's not that I don't like living; I do. Very much. I don't ever want to die, because I know tomorrow will always bring some new person or book or meal or song or movie that will delight me, make me think, bring me to tears, stir me. Despite all that, I often feel as if I'm floating a bit away from humanity, not quite sure how to belong, where to be, what to be.

To my great surprise, many of the events at Sarah's and Scott's school have proven to help me connect to the world, if only for the duration of the event. I sit in the audience, one among many parents, and our common dreams and wishes unite us. That's my kid! I hope she/he isn't too nervous! Doesn't he/she look great! And on and on.

I also feel connected to the kids on the stage or the field or the playground. Tonight, we watched the final upper school concert of the year. It was thus the last concert for several of the senior kids, including one of Sarah's best friends. I was sad to see them go, happy to get to hear them play, and moved by the many years I've been watching them. I remembered my high school self and his dreams; I still burn with most of them.

It was a special night for me. It was a special night for many of the kids. It was a special night for all the parents there. It was also just another of thousands and thousands like it that happen regularly all over the world. It was a common human thing, and I was part of it, another common human. I like that.

School concert night

Today's big event was the school holiday concert, in which both Sarah and Scott played violin as part of the string ensemble and then again with the full symphony orchestra. Both are very good violinists (and, more generally, musicians), and I love to watch and listen to them play.

The program was almost completely Christmas music, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. Though I certainly can and sometimes do overdose on Christmas tunes, I typically like them--provided, of course, that you not start playing them until at least the day after Thanksgiving.

I've talked with a lot of parents who dread going to school concerts. Particularly when the kids are younger, you certainly hear a lot of awkward playing and missed notes, but even in those days then I liked the events overall. There's something wondrous about a group of young people making music, giving themselves if only for a short time to the sole purpose of art. I often come away thinking we grown-ups would be better served spending more of our time on art.

Which is one of the many reasons I now, after over two decades of flirting with and occasionally engaging in fiction, now write every day.

I'm proud making music is part of Sarah's and Scott's lives, I'm proud of the way they play, and I'm just proud of them. Seeing them in tux and long dress on stage, playing well and looking good, made me quite happy.