Last night, after Addie went to bed, I slipped out of the house for the East Central Illinois Youth Orchestra spring Concert. Elspeth was my best friend for the evening, and she wanted to go too; until she had the thought that maybe the pottys might flush by themselves at the concert (a phobia of hers) and that maybe there were loud things to dry your hands at the concert (the other bathroom phobia she has).
The featured soloist is the son of a friend, and he IS AMAZING. I was pleased that my act of support, was actually going to be well enjoyed because youth orchestra is WAY better than it was when I was in school. The evening was passing pleasantly enough and we got through intermission and all the myriad awards necessary to the end of year, and to recognize significant effort.
Then Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 "From the New World" began. I love Dvorak and I LOVE this symphony. As a former viola player, I love that for a brief moment (maybe 4 measures, maybe less), the Violas carry the melody. There is a rule in orchestras as far as I can tell that the Violas NEVER carry the melody. They may join it for a moment, stop tangentially past it when the Violins need support briefly, but they never CARRY IT ALONE. Except for that brief section in this piece, and I loved it last night because I caught the glimpse the viola players exchanged when they concluded their moment of glory. I knew the look would come, because I used to have the same look too.
But what I loved best of all, was the memories of my childhood. I do not have a daughter that is able to sit (no matter what I might threaten her with) through any piece of music. She is obsessed with bassoons, and she loves to pick out the trumpet, but she is not physically able to sit still and listen to a symphony, yet. I found myself wishing (briefly) for a daughter that would sit on my lap, I wonder what that is like.
I remembered my Mother buying me a all day sucker and hauling me up to the balcony, where no one else sat, in the vain hopes of sitting through a performance when my father played horn in the orchestra. My Mother, who wisely didn't ask where the gum I was chewing came from, but threw strange glances at the gum pasted to the bottom of seats folded up around us. I remember crawling through the chairs and I am sure I enjoyed myself more than my mother. I wondered if my Mother ever wished for a daughter that sat on her lap, when she took the same kind of girl to the symphony.
I remember laying on the living room floor with my father to listen to music. I would close my eyes and picture myself as a weary soldier coming home through the Pines of Rome, or envision one of the Pictures at an Exhibition.
As I came to myself at the end of the piece last night, I found I was literally sitting on the edge of my chair leaning towards the orchestra.
My grad program educated me on how to select and enjoy a good wine, wear a suit as comfortably as sweats and not embarrass myself at a corporate meal. My undergrad program gave me the ability to develop and defend a cohesive thought. My grade school taught me how to appreciate the finer points of geometry.
But my parents taught me to love music, and that is a gift.
3 comments:
Sounds fantastic! I too was a viola player for a very brief time (in the 4th grade).
what a neat tribute to your parents. Being the parent of a daughter who could not sit still more than 5 seconds, I understand the wistful glimpse at the parent who has the child obediently sitting on the lap. Of course, our daughter would run over people on the way to score a goal. dad
Yeah, that gum incident still gives me chills. But then, you were only about three at the time.
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