What I Was Born For

I’m thinking of John Irving’s book A Prayer for Owen Meany. Though I don’t remember the details, Owen had some strange character quirks that finally revealed their purpose in a climactic scene in which he saves a group of children in a way no one else could have done. As if every moment in his life was moving inexorably to that one moment. That sense of “This is what I was born for.”

 

What if today was the epic climax of my own journey? If every beckoning finger that I followed, every fork in the road I took, every choice I made and every choice that seemed to be made for me was just a prelude leading up to today? To this 45-minute performance with eight 4^th to 6^th grade classes and 160 kids that I put together in less than three weeks. If that turned out to be the entire reason for my incarnation, I believe I would accept it gratefully.

 

With no dress rehearsal in the actual space and two or three classes per grade to put it together, the kids came through with flying colors. My Little Suede Shoes, Come Butter Come, Mo Betta Blues, Boom Chick a Boom, Step Back Baby, Humpty Dumpty, Wa-Nyema, representing a wide swath of culture and musical style (Jazz, Mother Goose, games from the U.S., Virgin Islands, Mexico, Japan) and mixing clapping plays, body percussion, songs, dances, drama, Orff Ensemble, just about every box of dynamic and inspired music education and education in general was checked. The head of school commented afterwards, “I had goosebumps almost the whole time” and told me one child sitting next to her said, “My hands hurt from clapping so much,” and another responded, “My face hurts from smiling so much.” 

 

The concert was over by 9:15 and I still had a full day ahead of me. Three more hour-long classes with the 5^th graders. We played a little game where each had to choose one word to describe their feeling before, during or after  the performance and say it on the beat, with everyone echoing. Amongst the choices were “Amazing, fantabulous, joyful, happy, cheerful, proud, nervous, excited, scared, relaxed.”

 

I used some of the time to read more chapters from my Jazz, Joy & Justice book— Nat King Cole, Nina Simone— as well as telling them the story of the time Art Tatum’s sister invited me into the house where Art grew up. They gifted me with the same kind of attentive listening they showed for some previous readings.

 

Finally, we arrived at the closing game, where each in turn gets to go into the middle and “show us your motion” while we sing and clap. A final circle passing a hand-squeeze around and a goodbye hi-five with each, ending the three weeks the way I like, like a piece of music with its satisfying closing chords. Some chose to hug me instead of hi-five and many pleaded, “When are you coming back?” A few minutes after one class ended, a child came back to collect some waterbottles some other kids had left and explained that they sent her to do it because they were out in the hall crying. Finally, I went out to meet the cab and just as I was getting in, I heard this commotion from a window. The kids had gathered for one more goodbye! 

I don’t feel done with my work here on Earth and am in no hurry to see about giving workshops on the other side of the Pearly Gates. But if this day had been destined to be my Swan Song, I would be content. Thank you to all the children, teachers and especially kids at the Havergal College Junior School in Toronto, Canada. It has been a sheer delight.