Week 15 - rewrite of adult memoir

I have found that as children get older, performances get longer - whether they are plays or concerts - and yet the seating arrangements stay uncomfortably the same.   As I walked toward the gymnasium I was debating my choices.  I could head for the folding, unyielding, metal chairs in the front to allow for pictures without framing it with shoulders and heads of the people in front of me.  However the chairs were always packed closely together and didn't allow for much personal space.  I decided that I would change things up and sit on the bleacher seats instead - same butt-numbing results, but the advantage of a higher viewpoint which comes in handy for large groups such as this one and the ability to spread out a bit.  People tend to leave a bit of space between each other on bleacher seats, and it's easy to shift a bit to either side when not impersonating a can of sardines.  At least with these concerts there is no worry of being unable to hear, microphones and speakers flanked the back to amplify the piece enough that even the parents at the top could hear clearly. 

High school concerts are the big leagues of the public school concert world, and programs are handed out at the entrance.  I took two, one for reading through and using as reference during the performance (and then as a fan once the air became sifling) and the other to tuck carefully away to take home and put in the scrapbook with the pictures I would take.  I had my digital camera, video camera, and tripod all stored in my handy camera bag, along with extra rechargable batteries and AC adaptors tucked in the side pockets.  Over my other should I carried my purse, hastily cleaned out at home and refilled with bottles of water and granola bars (mostly for my son after the concert), tissues and a foldable seat cushion for me (it was a large purse).  I saw a lot of familiar faces as I found a seat.  We were all like an extended family by now, seeing each other four or five times a year at these same functions.  I set up camp mid-way up the bleachers in the center section, just 5 rows down from the top where there were several wall outlets, just in case.  I waved at another mom heading up the steps with similar gear in tow.  She scooted past me and began setting up as well.  We chatted a bit while getting comfy, placing our jackets beside us to make sure no one encroached in our territory, and looked through the program commenting on the soloist selections and pieces that the children were performing.  The selection for that year was Jersey Boys, and I was pleased to see that there were several pieces that were familiar upbeat songs.

The audience hushed as the performers quickly and quietly entered and took their beginning places.  The boys all looked rather dashing in white dinner jackets and bow ties, and the girls in purple sequins with large tulle bows around their waist.  Scanning the layout of the group, I turned on the video camera and adjusted the zoom so that I would be able to see all of them and I wouldn't have to fiddle with the buttons except to zoom closer for the soloists.  The director stepped up and described the different pieces for the performance, introduced the soloists and walked towards the small band that would be playing the music.  As the band began, the singers all began the choreographed steps, smiles in place.  I spotted my son near the back with most of the other boys and snapped a few still photos of him, and them, as they stepped and moved to the music. 

I find that the show chior is aptly named, it is a complete show story with amazing vocals.  The opening song shifted to another as the ladies melted away and the gentlemen stepped forward.  My son took a step further toward the microphone and I zoomed in the camera as he began his solo piece.  I held my breath.  He had been practicing all week, humming under his breath and doing scales while in the shower, and it had paid off - he was fantastic.  I managed to get a picture or two of him before I had to dig for the tissues in my purse.  As his voice trailed off on the final note, the wave of applause built.  Technically the applause was supposed to be held until the end to keep from interrupting the following song, but since I didn't start it I didn't feel too guilty in clapping just as loud as I could.  Standing there in the spotlight, smiling as the applause (his applause) drowned out the continued music, his eyes met mine and I gave him two thumbs up.  I sat back comfortably on my cushion to enjoy the rest of the performance.  I thought of the amazing journey my son had brought me on, from school to school, group to group, concert to concert, and I was so thankful that he did.  All of it, every painful and butt-numbig minute, had been worth it for just this one night.