You shall sing again someday
On a Saturday in January, I attended a family party. I spent much of the time in my aunt's kitchen talking with my cousin's daughter, SJ, who is a senior in high school. She was telling me about how she'd gotten a job at a craft store so she could afford the various trappings of senior year, like her music trip to California and prom, and she invited me to her senior choir concert. I made sure to write the date down in my planner: May 12. I realized it was a Tuesday, and let her know Tuesdays were tough, but I'd see what I could do to make it. I talked to YC and discovered her normal Tuesday night plans would be over with by that time, so she likely could take my evening shift, and I would switch with her for one of her nights.
Fast-forward four months, and it is Tuesday night, May 12. I am neither at work nor at SJ's concert. There has not been a late Tuesday night for me since the beginning of March. My business hasn't even stayed open that late during this time. She hasn't had choir, I haven't had band, there has been little music in recent weeks. She did, at least, get to go to California, as her trip was prior to spring break, so at least she got to do something special. But so far, no prom. Graduation is up in the air. This has been a bummer of a senior year, spring semester for her and countless others.
She turned 18 last week. I sent her a card, something silly I had in my stash. I had thought about it for a few days, what I could write in it, but decided against anything profound. I'd rather she have a laugh and something to enjoy the day with, you know? I could save the deep stuff for a grad card. This is also the rare year where she would have a graduation to herself; my goddaughter would be the one graduating with her, except she didn't go to college. She did, though, get to experience her high school graduation, on a beautiful if cool night in May four years ago. As the fourth of five children (sixth of seven if you count all her dad's kids), SJ got to watch her older siblings finish high school and have a celebration. Sometimes you get the hand-me-downs when you're that far down the line; she won't even get her time in the spotlight in some ways.
In thinking about her classmates, I realized these kids were born either right around or just after September 11th. Think about it--to this point, their lives have been bookended by major events that have shaped our worlds. They were born into tragedy and know no different life, a life before TSA screenings and terrorist attacks and school shootings for that matter. The two World Trade Center towers never existed to them. Older people remember the seismic shift created by that day; SJ and her classmates know nothing else. That's just how it's always been for them. They're old enough now that they'll recall this moment and know it was life-altering, but they're also young enough to have their lives shaped by it and hopefully see a way through this, see problems needing to be solved and find ways to solve them. They'll remember the pain and isolation and want to buffer their children from such things, and fight tooth and nail to make it happen. They will come out of this more resilient than we realize, able to rebound from the toughest challenge the globe has seen in decades, and know that the only way to forge ahead is to work together. We are one in this and we shall work as one to solve this issue. It is the only way forward.
And they shall come together to make music once more. Look at the people who do Friday night sing-alongs, and who are performing via Zoom and what have you. There are ways to share talents with others, and it doesn't have to involve a group of people on a stage while another group sits in front of them. They will come up with novel ways of entertaining, and it will bring people happiness, in part because we're watching people who love to perform and they are so thrilled to be able to perform for us. It will be amazing for this to happen again, and it will. It will take patience and being open to new experiences. High school seniors are already predisposed to being open to new experiences. They may just lead the way. We would be wise to follow along to see what happens.
Fast-forward four months, and it is Tuesday night, May 12. I am neither at work nor at SJ's concert. There has not been a late Tuesday night for me since the beginning of March. My business hasn't even stayed open that late during this time. She hasn't had choir, I haven't had band, there has been little music in recent weeks. She did, at least, get to go to California, as her trip was prior to spring break, so at least she got to do something special. But so far, no prom. Graduation is up in the air. This has been a bummer of a senior year, spring semester for her and countless others.
She turned 18 last week. I sent her a card, something silly I had in my stash. I had thought about it for a few days, what I could write in it, but decided against anything profound. I'd rather she have a laugh and something to enjoy the day with, you know? I could save the deep stuff for a grad card. This is also the rare year where she would have a graduation to herself; my goddaughter would be the one graduating with her, except she didn't go to college. She did, though, get to experience her high school graduation, on a beautiful if cool night in May four years ago. As the fourth of five children (sixth of seven if you count all her dad's kids), SJ got to watch her older siblings finish high school and have a celebration. Sometimes you get the hand-me-downs when you're that far down the line; she won't even get her time in the spotlight in some ways.
In thinking about her classmates, I realized these kids were born either right around or just after September 11th. Think about it--to this point, their lives have been bookended by major events that have shaped our worlds. They were born into tragedy and know no different life, a life before TSA screenings and terrorist attacks and school shootings for that matter. The two World Trade Center towers never existed to them. Older people remember the seismic shift created by that day; SJ and her classmates know nothing else. That's just how it's always been for them. They're old enough now that they'll recall this moment and know it was life-altering, but they're also young enough to have their lives shaped by it and hopefully see a way through this, see problems needing to be solved and find ways to solve them. They'll remember the pain and isolation and want to buffer their children from such things, and fight tooth and nail to make it happen. They will come out of this more resilient than we realize, able to rebound from the toughest challenge the globe has seen in decades, and know that the only way to forge ahead is to work together. We are one in this and we shall work as one to solve this issue. It is the only way forward.
And they shall come together to make music once more. Look at the people who do Friday night sing-alongs, and who are performing via Zoom and what have you. There are ways to share talents with others, and it doesn't have to involve a group of people on a stage while another group sits in front of them. They will come up with novel ways of entertaining, and it will bring people happiness, in part because we're watching people who love to perform and they are so thrilled to be able to perform for us. It will be amazing for this to happen again, and it will. It will take patience and being open to new experiences. High school seniors are already predisposed to being open to new experiences. They may just lead the way. We would be wise to follow along to see what happens.