The first few years, the concerts were so cute. All of us parents and grandparents sat watching as our kids plinked and squealed out the notes with such care and precision. We smiled at one another and said things like Awwww… Then one year, I think it was the 8th grade, out of nowhere, the school band concert became music. It became a living thing played with grace and finesse, and there were our kids up there doing something real.
I will never forget sitting there towards the front, looking up at my daughter on the stage, perched primly in the first flute chair, completely absorbed in the song, in the movement of her fingers, swaying slightly as she played, and it occurred to me that she had this whole other life, of her own, that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Her niche and talent in this place, with these people, was something that belonged to her alone, something she had created simply by being given the instrument and the opportunity to learn to play it. Now, I never make it through one of her concerts with dry eyes. I just cannot shake the profoundness of first realizing that my child was becoming her own person, inextricably bound up with the experience of the Spring Concert.
