Music has always been a part of my life, most especially as I was growing up. It started at the age of about three or four years old, when I was finally big enough to actually reach the keys on the piano. My aunt happened to be a piano teacher and taught lessons at our house, since we had an upright grand piano. I watched her students come and go, longing for my own chance to learn how to make a melody erupt from the depths of the beautiful wooden instrument.
I finally got my chance, and practiced diligently. I continued with piano lessons through about third grade, when we moved from Columbus to Dayton, Ohio. By that point I had graduated from my aunt to the stereotypical type of instructor- an older lady who unfortunately drained all the fun out of making music. I hated being told what to play, as well as how and when to play it. I felt restrained, and was fearful of the piano becoming something I dreaded rather than loved.
So when we moved to Dayton, I told my mom that I didn't want to continue formal lessons. But that didn't mean I stopped playing. I knew the basics at this point, and self taught myself the rest- but on my terms. I continued to dabble in the classics, but also turned to Joplin (Scott, not Janis...)and modern sheet music, eventually adding my voice to the notes my fingers played.
I joined the choir in elementary school, and stuck with that all through high school. I sang in both the traditional choir and show choir, with some dabbling in piano and directing over the years as it allowed. I loved everything about choir, and looked forward to it every day. I was fortunate to have an amazing director, and even more amazing peers, and together we won many awards and exceeded rankings of some college choirs by the time we graduated.
Whenever I was happy, sad, angry, depressed, etc. I turned to that same piano I first played on as a toddler. I poured my emotions into the keys and the songs, allowing my brain or heart to disconnect, heal, or swell depending on the occasion. That piano now sits in my own living room, a symbol of such a large part of my life, a touchstone that still can calm my spirit just by sitting down at the bench.
Tonight, the 11-year old had his first choir concert. He hadn't said much about choir class up until this point, aside from pointing out that he now understands what my tattoo (a treble clef) actually means...so I wasn't sure what to expect when we went. Would he be the kid that stood there awkwardly and barely moved his mouth? I hadn't even heard him practicing at home, something I did over and over and over in my younger years- but of course, my "issues" did not just emerge as an adult... How engaged was he in this class? Was he just going through the motions?
As the children filed onto the stage, I was immediately hit by how excited my son looked. Maybe there was a tiny bit of nerves there too, but overall he was smiling and looked excited about getting started. My husband, mother, and girlfriend all held our breaths as the music started, hoping that the majority of kids could at least carry a tune.
And boy did they. I have always had a very critical ear for pitch, tone, and harmony, something that helped me tremendously in my younger years. And although they weren't' perfect, and most of the songs didn't require much harmony, I was impressed at their overall performance.
But the greatest part was watching the 11-year old. I know that every parent there was naturally watching their own kid, but I have to say that mine was pretty darn cute. He is a bass, and was placed directly in the middle of the crowded risers on stage. As the music started and the children began to sing, I saw my son transform into something that I recognized on such a personal level I literally started smiling, laughing, and crying at the same time.
His eyes never left the director, and I swear he looked like a little red-headed, freckle-faced Stevie Wonder up there. He was totally into a zone, moving his head and making facial expressions that my showchoir director and choreographer would have been proud of. He wasn't just going through the motions- he was really singing. And enjoying it.
Tonight's picture represents the power of music. Yeah, most of us sing in the shower. Some of us sing while we vacuum, or do yardwork. We all have favorite songs or types of music that we relate to. But for some, singing is more than that. It's a way of not only expressing yourself but working with other people to make something beautiful. I always enjoyed singing with others way better than singing on my own. There's nothing more magical to me than making perfect harmony with someone else (have you ever listened to Pentatonix?! If not you should check them out)- it's so much harder than you think. Who knows if the 11-year old will continue on with choir. Maybe it will be like my piano lessons, and he will make his own path. But I hope he never stops singing, and finding that place inside that music touches and sets free.
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