2 May 2012

This day was my elder daughter's 13th birthday. I was driving to the hospital for a breastfeeding coalition meeting, wondering if the hospital had any bulletin boards where I could post a flyer for her choir concert. I was thinking of the power the choir has to make me cry, not necessarily because of the subject matter, although that is part of it, but because of the sweetness of their voices working together. The fact that they come together every week to practice, and they work at it, and learn their song, and learn their parts, and cooperate with one another, and blend their voices, and make something beautiful that is greater than the sum of the individual parts. And, for the most part, my daughter doesn't even have an awareness of this. She often doesn't like going to choir rehearsal. She feels annoyed if people do a part incorrectly. She doesn't like the dress, she's not necessarily a performer. But she interprets the songs with the facial expressions she thinks are proper. She doesn't cry when she sings the songs, she thinks about what she's doing along with the other children, and then those who are lucky enough to be listening can hear the totality of it. I wish more of Reno could value hearing them.