I count my blessings every time I get to go on a field trip with my grandson. Helping to keep the natives from getting restless is a small price to pay for the rich experiences of new explorations. Chaperoning second graders in a super city will keep you on your toes. How interested will they be in the symphony?
The music hall is an architectural eye-feast. Stunning in its precision design. You are filled with the engineering thought behind carefully crafted detail to bring out the best in melodic possibilities. Beside the commercial free listening you get to take in rich tones and arrangements offering an intoxicating cocktail of orchestration.
What is my grandson thinking and feeling? He is days away from turning eight. Is there something being birthed inside him. Is the violin, clarinet, or oboe calling his creative juices? Maybe he is captured by the conductor standing on his perch waving his baton. Does he understand the excellence of each member’s contribution? Oh, how I want him to notice everything.
Music will undoubtedly play a role in his life. His entire life! And, there are many choices. From music intended to express anger and revolt to romantic love songs forged to deliver priceless moments. What will he gravitate toward? If we are fortunate he will seek to understand anti-establishment tunes as well as popular feel-good grooves. I will be pleased if he knows where music come from and more importantly, why it has such power.
With the backdrop of social unrest, my mind went to work, to take in the bounty, of what was being served by a group dedicated to a dominate and collective purpose. Struck by the intention of individuals coming together to create a feeling for all to breathe in. Any break in continuity would be so noticeable and strike a most unpleasant chord making everyone cringe. The moment was preserved with the skill of dedicated will.
I asked myself, which of these shared hearts were to be feared, and hated? Who was a democrat or republican? Conservative or liberal? Should I single out the horns or string players to despise? Surely making music that offers peace and harmony must have a derogatory section to blame for every ill. But then, in the moment, I realized I was without complaint.
I caught myself in the liberty of the occasion. All I wanted was for my grandson to witness the different and distinctive sounds contributing to a moment that held the power to transfix us all in togetherness. I want nothing less than for him to believe in the symphony of life, love, and peaceful coexistence.
I have hope for a shattered world!
I write about my journey from chaos to character in my book: If Only I Had A Dad