A Concert on the Hillside
by Maile Silva
“It is the peculiar nature of the world to go on spinning no matter what sort of heartbreak is happening.”
-Sue Monk Kidd
This morning we were invited to the First Grade Patriotic Concert at our local elementary school. We walked up to the school grounds, to the crowd forming at the base of the hill where our children were waiting in rows with their red, white, and blue outfits and gap-toothed smiles, and I felt electric with emotion.
Fear came first. Could our little gathering to be the first line in a news article tomorrow morning, announcing another mind-staggering tragedy? What are the odds, some might say. I wish I shared their naivety. But then I saw our boy, waving his hand furiously above the heads of his classmates, his smile stretching wide enough that even at 30 yards away I could see the space left behind by the tooth he lost two nights ago. Seeing him, I stopped in the walkway and waved back at him as furiously as he’d done to me, like I was seeing him for the first time in years. Maybe my enthusiasm looked silly or indulgent, but today, could I be anything else? My son was standing there smiling at me, radiating with life, and this was not a small thing. Not when I think of other mothers who would give every limb, every drop of blood in their bodies to see that sight again.
We set up our lawn chairs too far back for my taste, but other prompter parents had gotten the prized spots close to the front. So, I bobbed my head from side to side as the children began singing their songs, trying to find the angle that would give me the best view of our son. “You should record some of this,” I whispered to Shawn. I knew our boy would want to show it to his siblings when he got home that afternoon.
As the teacher led the children into their next song, “America the Beautiful”, I felt the warmth of nostalgia ease over me. I was back in the dingy music room of Concord Elementary, standing in crooked rows with my classmates as our teacher tried to fit in one last practice before our evening concert for the parents. I didn’t love the thought of being on a stage under the hot spotlights in a too tight Sunday dress and Mary Janes that would give me blisters. But I loved singing “America the Beautiful”. The amber waves and the purple mountains and God shedding grace on all of it. I didn’t completely understand the words, but something about them stirred my burgeoning soul, and I felt so lucky to live in a place with such a song.
And hearing that song again this morning, the same feeling welled up, but a deep sadness came with it. The cheerful voices rose to a crescendo with “and crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.”
Brotherhood. The words snagged in my mind. What do we know of brotherhood?
When my son gets home from school this afternoon, we will show him the video of his concert this morning, and I know one thing for certain: he will show it to his siblings. He will call them over to the couch and they will sit beside him as he holds the phone out far enough for all of them to see, a smile of pride on his face. And they will watch. Though they would rather be finishing their homework or texting their friends or fitting in an afterschool nap. Why? Because he’s their brother, and putting him first above all those things is the right thing to do—it’s how you treat a brother.
Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash