Yesterday, we went to another lovely concert at the public high school that my oldest two kids attend. As usual, I was stunned at the variety of music presented: old and new vocal and instrumental jazz, medieval hymns, funny arrangements of secular Christmas songs, even a Sephardic song about the sighting of a star at the birth of Abraham. And they were good. They opened with the entire band playing “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and then the various choirs filed in, singing, from both sides.
When I was tried to sneak quietly back into the auditorium after taking the little guys for a bathroom break, the choir director, who was taking a break too, grinned and whispered, “Bless you!” I don’t even know why. For dragging little kids out at night in the freezing cold, I guess, just so they could hear some good music.
For the second song on the program, the stage cleared and six high school girls tottered out to the mics — every one of them wearing black or red dresses, some skin tight, some buttcheek-high, some of them constructed of evil-looking lace, straps, and bands. One girl wore black booties with a stacked wedge, but the others were balancing atop black or red heels so high, it looked like a novelty act when they started to sing: look, this girl can sustain a high C without breaking an ankle!
There’s no other word for it: they looked awful. Too young to look sexy, too sexy to look young. You know what I mean.
And what were they singing? “The Sound of Music.” They sounded good, sweet, young. God help me, I cried. Of course everything makes me cry, but I was just so glad, so glad that someone was teaching these girls music. You could see what else they had learned about beauty.
To the choir director: bless you, too.