When you give birth to children you kind of hope that some of your interests and talents will be passed on to them. You want them to experience the same joy you had. To strive to go beyond themselves into new areas of creativity and intellectual progression. But above all, you want them to freaking succeed so you can live vicariously through them. That's what kids are for.
I sing. And I have always sung. Well not always. When I was thirteen years old I woke up one day and suddenly had vibrato. I thought it was part of puberty: Your skin breaks out, you get hairy legs and you get vibrato. It's how it worked for me. And my mom sang, so I figured it was normal.
Well, imagine my joy when all of my children turned out to love music. My oldest plays the piano and can belt the ears off of a bison at a hundred paces. My next taught himself to play guitar and now plays bass and upright bass in the high school jazz band, as well as acoustic and electric guitar at home, like nobody's business. I mean, he's really good. The next child is also working up a wicked Broadway belt, and is learning to play harp. And the youngest sings and is just learning violin. My cup runneth over and I have serious America's Got Talent dreams for these people.
And I still do tonight. For reals. No, I mean it.
We were driving home from my littlest dude's violin recital. It was lovely. I mean they're all beginning violinists, right? Anywhere from age 6 to 10. And it's an after school program offered with a lot of enthusiasm. Be honest. Don't you think they're great? Pretty much? And mostly playing notes that are actually on the musical scale?
Yeah. Me too. (BTW, my boy is sitting smack in front of the conductor. That's his bow sticking out of her hip, with the occasional neck of his violin protruding from her thigh. *sniff* I'm so proud.)
Then, because everyone was aglow with the joy of the season and the beauty of the music, my kidlets started singing. They chose O Holy Night. And it moved me. To tears. Lots and lots of them. This, my people, is the future of the arts in this country. THIS. Listen with reverence and awe, dear ones. It is my Christmas gift to you (You may hear the occasional bison in this song. Do not be alarmed) (Also, I recorded this surreptitiously. Hence the cracked-out camera work.):
I know. Tears. You're welcome.
Scary Merry Christmas!
(In case you're wondering how my children could desecrate a beloved Christmas song in this way, let me just say that THIS guy did it first.)
Too. Funny.
Tell the kiddos I said hello and good luck on their burgeoning operatic careers. I hope they have a Plan B.