All growth is a leap in the dark. A spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience. —Henry Miller
This oft-cited quotation from American novelist Henry Miller sums up a small, but notable, leap taken in our household. The leap began with a notice in our church’s weekly newsletter wherein our choirmaster Robert Matthews was recruiting youth to sing an anthem he had written. The notice was addressed, seemingly, to the high-schoolers and middle-schoolers who had sung in the past, but I immediately wondered if granddaughter Patti could be part of that experience.
Okay, she’s just eight, and her choral skills are not highly developed. On the other hand, what develops someone’s skills better stepping into, or leaping into, the unknown? To my surprise and delight, Robert said, “Let’s give it a go.” Then I figured I’d better ask Patti what she thought.
I have a bad habit of inquiring into (or setting up) opportunities that strike me as terrific and only thereafter asking the relevant children, grandchildren, or friends, “What do you think about the idea?” Chalk it up to the “take action now, apologize later” mode in which I was raised.
To my relief, Patti agreed, primarily because she adores Robert. Oh, what power lies in a child’s adoration of a teacher! Or a ballet master, coach, scoutmaster, youth director, or any other leader who appears in that child’s life. Sometimes I forget just how powerful this admiration can be. Unquestionably, it enables achievements far beyond anything a parent can foster. At any rate, off Patti trotted to the first rehearsal, thrown in with teens and the adult choir. It’s fair to say she reveled in being the only little kid involved.
But young or not, one still has to produce, right? And this was not a push-over piece of music. It’s a glorious anthem, about six minutes long, full of everything exciting in modern choral composition: engaging ostinato rhythms, melodies that soar and land on well-placed dissonances, sections where the choral sonority hangs beautifully in the air, blocks of sound that reverberate after cut-off, plus shifts of meter that cause the whole piece to dance.
All of that (not to mention the experience of being surrounded by this type of sound in live performance) was new for Patti, as it would be for most children her age. And it all lay far beyond her previous choral experience. Look, I’m as fond of kids’ choirs singing Jesus Loves the Little Children as anyone. Writing for journals like Memoria Press’ The Classical Teacher, I often wax eloquent on the merits of tunes like He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. Such strong, simple tunes precisely teach a child the vocabulary of Western Music.
But entering into a real piece of repertoire drenched in the intricacies of our Western choral language means taking a leap. And it means rehearsals—real rehearsals. Plus (as we all know), any achievement like this requires spending time on one’s own, listening to, playing through, and singing the parts, plus considering the piece as a whole. Can young kids do this? Oh, you’d better believe they can! Not all children, however, will get the chance to try.
So, for the long and short of it, Patti came, she saw heard, she conquered (mostly). And she worked harder at it than I expected at home, sitting with me at the piano and listening to an audio file created for the choristers’ practice. With grandma smiling widely, she went to the 8 a.m. final rehearsal before the 9 a.m. service. She sang the anthem and many of the service chants, plus more of the four hymns than usual (another leap). She had a quick break for cookies (not ordinarily part of our Sunday-morning routine but, hey, when you leap off cliffs, you get cookies!). Then, there was a quick rehearsal before the 11 a.m. service, and a chance to do it all over again (something quite important whenever one aspires to a higher level). The picture you see was snapped around 1 p.m., after everything was over.
Here’s what I love about this photo: first, it documents the fact that she did do it (reinforcing my ardent belief that kids generally can do “it”—whatever it is—when expectations are set higher). Secondly, I had never seen that look on her face before. Okay, maybe a little when she danced in her first Nutcracker this past Christmas. But here, the look has matured. It comes not just from excitement. It reflects a universal look after something real has been accomplished, or, at least, survived!
Lest you think I write all of this out of grandma-pride (okay, maybe a bit), please know that the topic of what kids actually can do looms large on my mind right now. How much capacity does a child have to experience and grasp the arts at a high level, particularly in conjunction with their studies of literature, history, geography, and science? The answer, I think, is far more than we give them credit for.
Robert put Patti right in front in the middle of the balcony rail. Honestly at her age, I would have fainted just standing in that situation. On the other hand, music has power! When you couple music’s power with the vibrancy of a tutor’s mentoring and the support of those surrounding who strive with you, then a child will be strengthened. That leap becomes the next joyous step in the dance.