My daughter’s holiday choir concert was the greatest elementary school holiday choir concert of all time. I have not seen many. But I have a good imagination and when my imagination tries to imagine a better choir concert, it fails. This is unfortunate for you because it was last Thursday and you missed it. However, that’s why I review things. But how can this paltry text draw near the miracle of little girl song? It can’t. But these are the constraints the reviewer works within. Let’s soldier on.
So there was this one part where a bunch of kids (none of whom were my daughter) were doing this riverdance kind of thing and, you know, fine, okay, good. You didn’t really need to see that part unless one of the riverdancers was your kid, I guess, because yawn. And since I’ve started right out being negative, another bad part was the guy’s head in my way (see above). I know the world doesn’t revolve around me but I am a Babble Voices Reviewer and all the front row seats were reserved for parents of riverdancers. It just doesn’t add up.
But enough with the complaining.
My daughter’s up there singing. I can’t really hear her because it’s a choir. I know. It sounds obvious and it is obvious but there’s a lot of cool stuff swirling around the obvious when you can see past the guy’s head. For some reason, I thought about holding the back of her bike seat when she was learning how to pedal and steer. I remembered rocking her to sleep. And then I thought about her crazy fashion sense and smiled. These thoughts and memories, mind you, are not apart from the choir concert. They arose right along with Frosty The Snowman. She is so loud, already so opinionated, such a person. Again, obvious, but not so when you knew her before she was born. Most of her life, it seems to me, has been about emerging into an individual — trying herself on for size.
And this was the first time I was conscious of witnessing her dissolve into a group, a voice in a choir. I could see her waver between uncertainty and confidence. She’d forget a few words, peer to her left as if to see her neighbor’s voice, then she’d pick up again and sing. THERE. That’s what captured me. When she remembered the words, she forgot herself. She sang, she did, but she also abandoned her voice to a higher power of voices that was one cute Voice. You could see a kind of vacancy in her eyes. Concentration. Focus. Gone. What IS that? And who cares? You with me?
There’s something inherently sacrificial in really listening to a song, in submitting to fantasy, in watching your daughter teach you how to vanish in a choir. Beyond that sacrifice, one really can’t say. Voice to ear, lingering awhile, it’s just Frosty The Snowman and the greatest elementary school choir concert of all time.
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