Growing up, I probably would have been voted Least Likely to Have a Kid Play Strings. Some of the highlights of my childhood include attending a memorable Lee Greenwood concert during the apex of “God Bless the U.S.A.,” nights at the local stock car track, and weekly Hee-Haw viewing parties. I’m not mocking my upbringing, not by a long shot. There’s something deeply valuable though often dismissed in Appalachian culture, and I feel blessed to have been steeped in the best and worst it had to offer circa the late 70s and early 80s.
But no, classical music wasn’t on my radar. If asked, I could have identified a violin (as both a violin and a fiddle, which I think earns me bonus points), but that would have been the extent of it. And you know, that was o.k.
My kids are growing up differently, and that’s o.k., too.
Birdie is in her second season with the local Youth Symphony Orchestra. This week was the season’s first performance. Our family (sans Babita and Mathaus) trekked to the beautiful, historic theater downtown and sat in on a night of Debussey, Bach, and more. Birdie’s orchestra performed “Autumn,” of Vivaldi’s famous “Four Seasons.” It was amazing, even when played by a stage full of kids from 6 to 12 years old, I have to admit.
It was fun to watch her perform, and just as fun to sit alongside my other kids. Where I thought Bo and Luke Duke were the coolest guys ever, these kids think Antonin Dvorak rocks. I’m not saying either of us has the better end of the deal (the General Lee was pretty awesome) but the contrast can be dizzying at times.
After staying up late for the performance, we of course stopped and got a little treat. Sometimes, you give your 3 year-old a donut at 10 p.m. because the Hot/Now sign is lit up. Call it my nod to the more relaxed style of parenting embraced in my family of origin. I can still taste the taffy I let melt in my mouth on the way home from a Saturday night race as I dozed off, covered in OFF! and sticky with track grit. My kids will have memories of sleepy drives home in church clothes, the taste of Krispy Kreme, and the smell of fresh flowers. Completely different, but somehow the same.
