The Concert

It started with a folded sheet of notebook paper, left in the hatch of my car after I dropped her at home, left without comment, left for me to find on my own. Or not. Perhaps it was a test.

But she did put dates, times, and the words "choir" and "Harvey" on it. Last night was the high school fall choir concert. Next week is the school play.

I arrived my usual ten minutes early, so I could find seating with some visibility, rather than staring at the back of strangers' heads. For me, the real point was seeing my granddaughter. I selected the second row up in the bleachers along the back wall, an area with lots of space. It got me high enough without asking too much of my knees. After all, they had just been required to make the hike in from the parking lot, down the hall, and across the gym.

Shortly after sitting, I spied Aunt Genese arriving with her daughter, the family Jordan is living with while she finishes her senior year in the school she's been in. (Mom moved a few towns away.) I was barely acknowledged,but she wasn't outright rude, and they sat in the row in front of me. Lots of access for the ups and downs of an active three-year-old at what had to be getting mighty close to bedtime.

Then the students filed in, and Jordan found us all in a group, stopping by on her way to her seat to let her aunt know her mom was coming with a scarf she needed to complete her ensemble, and would somebody please bring it to her where she was sitting?

Oh goodie. Her mom's coming. Last we spoke I hung up on her, with a very plain request for her family to keep their noses out of our family's business. This was after she'd called me, yelling at me because we'd sold off my dad's car to a neighbor who could afford to keep it running and would welcome its use. We hadn't given it to Jordan. Their whole family was upset. It didn't matter that Jordan has no license, can't afford gas, insurance, or repairs, and the car would have wound up rotting away down there rather than up here in our drive. At least this way it'll get some use. So I got annoyed at their attitude, told her so, and hung up. I've been yelled at by her on the phone for years. I'm getting much better at hanging up, particularly now that Jordan is 18.

This should make the concert interesting.

I didn't have long to wait. In she came with the three littlest ones in tow, sitting down right in front of me, completely ignoring my presence as if we'd never met.

Yep, interesting. And a relief. I didn't feel like dealing with her either. And as it turned out, she spent most of the concert taking one or more of the kids out into the hallway since they couldn't behave well enough long enough to let anybody around them enjoy the concert.

Whew. On both counts.

Musically, the concert was interesting, a blend of new-old and new music, a variety of voice combinations and supporting instruments to make the hour-plus worth the uncomfortable seating. My only real quarrel was with the boys choir, which sported at least one member who regularly sang loudly off-key, particularly on the high notes. I do not have perfect pitch, but even my ears cringed.

I loved watching Jordan singing. This year she took seriously her job of maintaining eye contact during the songs with the director, rather than looking over the audience - and her scattered relatives - like previous years. That she saved for breaks between songs. She is an animated singer, fun to watch even if she weren't my granddaughter.

I'd been looking forward to hearing "Gypsy Rover", a song I've loved since the Chad Mitchell Trio did it back in the 60's. I recognized the first verse, but then this arrangement took it somewhere else, both musically and lyrically. With all the ambient noise around me, I couldn't quite tell where exactly that somewhere else was, however. Many other old songs did the same thing, making some new presentation that bore a passing resemblance to what I'd known. It was both refreshing and frustrating.

Most of these concerts have really pushed my nostalgia buttons hard. Half the time I'd be sitting there remembering when it was me up there singing, and feeling how distant that all was, feeling somehow alienated by that distance rather than tied into the similarities two generations apart. Some part of me was long lost, the concert serving as a reminder. This time I skipped that, feeling instead that this could very well be the last of these I go to. There will be more concerts for this last senior year, but who knows where I'll be then or whether I can make it to the next one?

But I do know, by the end of this concert, that every time Jordan looked over, at least I was still there, applauding her, still listening, her only family member there till the end. Some day that may mean something to her.

I wonder if I passed.