Picture Credit: Kristi Welton-Kidder

I have thoroughly enjoyed seeing my nephews grow up a little bit at a time in their school activities.

When my sister’s eldest was in school, he was in drama for a while, and it was great to see him on stage, growing from a kid to a young adult.

In the last few years, it has been my same experience, getting to watch his younger brother sing in choir at his middle school.

Tonight was the first concert of his choral program in the new school year, and, like for the programs he’s been in earlier, my sister’s local family goes to Eisenhower Middle School and stands in line until the doors to the gym are opened and seats on the bleachers can be secured, usually 30 minutes before showtime.

When showtime arrives, the gym is packed out. Grant’s chorus program at the school features 5 different choirs, and after a few words from the director, the top show choir sings a few songs. Then the sixth grade choir. Then another general choir. Then an all-girls choir featuring their maturing treble voices, Finally, the school’s concert choir takes to the risers. Grant stands on one end of a row. He is animated and intent, focused and locked in, and when the director’s arms rise to pull out the first song’s first notes, Grant becomes part of a prism of tones. He is part of one song that is soothing and pleasant, is layered and gentle on the mind. The music is a delightful escape from the events of today, and I look at grant and he is growing taller and filling in, drawing towards young adulthood as he sings fully with his choir.

The music for this program, under a new director, is fantastic, living up to the reputations of his two recent predecessors, who raised this city school choir program to a level of prestige in the last half a decade or so.

The selections range from a rearrangement of an 90’s pop Andre3000 tune to an African spiritual, to a Shaker song, to an old Irish pine that is sad and leary, supported by a quintet of percussion, keys, guitar, and a fiddle that help ferry the sung sorrow with a bent and lilting musical bed.

I love music, and especially the sound of young people who take it seriously and earnestly strive to become one organ, one voice, carefully delivering the director’s vision of a song. These kids tonight singing at this concert all seemed like they were like that, which is amazing because, as my sister observed, those in chorus probably represent 20% of the school’s enrollment. I had moments where closing my eyes was the best way I could hear a song, a melody, a lyric, a sentiment, a circumstance.

At the end of the concert, all five choirs joined and all of the kids sang a reprisal of the first song they sang this evening.

When it was over, there was lots of clapping, and a standing ovation.

I smiled, and Grant came up and joined his family briefly, hugging everyone. I told him I thoroughly enjoyed seeing him singing, like I always do.

I went down the stairs of the bleachers after the stands were largely empty and met my parents, who had sat across the gym on floor seats by a wall. We acknowledged how fun the concert was until Grant, making rounds, was playing with a friend of his as he returned to us.

I didn’t actually shake the kid’s hand. They were miming out something that middle school boys do when they are friends. Mom and Dad and I needed to go, so I was turning around when I hear him say “… and this is my uncle.”

I turned around and they were off again.

I think that is the first time I’ve heard him call me that, introducing me to someone, even in passing.

I’ve always known I was his uncle, but it was appreciated this evening, hearing him affirm that from his mouth.

It was an enjoyable concert, seeing Grant immersed in his part this evening, indeed.

Including his part as my nephew.