Tribute to the Children

Inspirations from a middle school winter concert.

What’s up, people? Thanks for dropping in. Much of the writing I’m sharing right now is stuff I’ve hoarded in the vault for years. I’m returning to these old scribblings, cleaning ’em up, and hitting send. This one I wrote about a year ago, but the memory of that middle school concert still reverberates in my heart. I share it now with you in honor of the children, inside and out.

For my paid subscribers, scroll down below the paywall for the audio version, if you prefer to listen to me read it. And thank you as always for supporting my work.

I got a text from a friend the other day. His daughter had broken her arm, he had to rush her to the hospital, could I drop off some dress clothes at school for his son’s winter concert tonight? I got to the school about a half hour before the show, with a small, blue, button-down shirt and khaki pants and a little blue blazer with a pink tie. In the auditorium, the boy was already up on stage with his cello, sawing out some last minute practice in the zone like a boxer before a big match. You don’t interrupt that kind of concentration. Still, I lifted the clothes up so he could see me in the aisle. “I have your dress clothes!” I mouthed to him. He quickly shook his head and mouthed back with wide eyes, “I don’t have time to change!” I almost said, “Come on, there’s still 30 minutes till showtime, bud,” but this was his dojo and he was dismissing me, so I just whisper-shouted, “Okay, I’ll be out there in the crowd,” and he got back to his cello.

All the kids were swallows in a chaotic swarm that wasn’t chaos at all if you zoomed out far enough to see the murmuration, a singular orchestration responding to itself, moving with itself, scurrying and shrieking and running and hooting. What moves children? What inspires them to look at you suddenly, or to look away from you? What propels them to sit on your lap out of nowhere, or to actively avoid you? What’s moving the swallows?