I had such a good time yesterday singing with the Largo High School Reunion Choir. Listening to young voices always reminds me of my own youth- when I began singing, how much I always loved music, the affirmation of church mothers, the impact of harmony, and the advantages and pitfalls of showy gifts.
The choir was fantastic. The soloists were superb; their crystal clear young voices not yet affected by life and its uncanny ability to give extra credibility and emotion to the words of a song.
The kids were so friendly and gracious. I felt a little old every time I heard "Miss Vanessa" but not in a depressing way. I was actually happy to know that home training and respect were still alive and well. It was so nice to applaud them, talk to them, and encourage them. I was especially happy to see Tara Thomas. I didn't know that she had attended Largo High School. She was a part of the alumni contingent of the choir--and the little tot who used to call me "That Goin' Up to Yonder Girl" so many years ago at Bethlehem Baptist Church. She now has a child of her own and has grown into a beautiful young woman.
Jeremiah Murphy has done a tremendous job leading the choir over the last 21 years and it showed. There was an entire choir of Largo High School alums in the audience who, for whatever reason didn't participate, but were only too happy to join their classmates for the finale song "Total Praise".
I was on my feet a lot yesterday. It was just too difficult to just sit there as each subsequent song seemed to get better and better. The young lady who sang "Perfect Praise" was amazing! I managed to remain in my heels until the end, but quickly and deliberately donned the flats for the walk to the parking lot.
This morning I'm paying for the snack choice I made late last night, and my extended stay in the high heels. I'm actually amused by the subtle changes occurring as I get older. I remember when there would have been no flats stashed in my purse, and the heels would have been higher. I remember when I wouldn't have been so exhausted when the concert was over, and would have gladly tried to catch the end of another activity, or would have spent hours eating and laughing at whatever restaurant was still open. I suppose all of my sleeping and waking thoughts were confirmed by author Darryl Pinckney's words:
"Once upon a time, the young would put the elderly on rafts and float them out to sea.
I think of that when I'm out walking and can't keep up with the younger guy ahead of me simply because my stride no longer has the same elasticity as his.
He disappears into the next block, his scalp full of essential oils.
Overnight I've become the age of my college students' parents, if not older.
One girl in class said, "Molly," and I didn't know that that was slang for a drug. Thirty years ago, I would have.
In my head, I used to be hip.
I had friends who were hip, and I tagged along.
But all of a sudden, I can't even stay out late.
Just this past New Year's Eve, I heard Patti Smith at the Bowery Ballroom.
She was great, and she's still hip because she has no fear of the young.
But a while after midnight, I was desperate to be on my way home to the cozy sounds of my radiators.
My hipness card expired a long time ago.
I can't speak the night's language anymore.
Downtown, where the condos and restaurants are now, I see the vanished landscape of dark clouds and abandoned corners.
I've become an old head who says, "in my day."
It's one of the most tiresome things you can be in New York-- formerly hip.
Then I must not forget that like everyone, the hip also went out to find someone to stay home with.
Home life is a consolation of the formerly hip.
Staying up late, but not too late, on another New Year's Eve with that someone met one smoky night 20 years ago isn't hip, but it's cool by me."
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