Yesterday I played four mini-concerts of songs & stories for kids at the Worcester Irish Music Festival. Despite the rain, there were still spirited crowds splashing through the puddles, gathering under the tents, and bellying up to the bars. Inside the hall, the kids were wild and lovable, ready for stories and dancing. I gave them a bit of both, telling some of my favorite tales and then, when a few kids could not contain the urge to run, just playing a jig on the whistle and watching with delight as they ran round and round in a circle on the dance-floor.
I love encouraging everyone to sing and so taught a fair number of chorus songs. One of them was “Soldier, Soldier” – a great song in which the young maid asks the young man to marry her but he protests because he lacks the right clothes for a wedding. The kids yell out what they think he needs – usually things like “a hat!” or “socks!” but yesterday that included “a visor” (by one little boy wearing, yes, a green visor which he deemed essential equipment) and the crowd favorite: “Boxers!”
One little girl, Grace, participated in this song-game with a special intensity that I recognized right away. She watched me like a hawk, she clapped along, she quickly learned the words – ALL of them, too, and not just the choruses – and when I asked her to sing, she jumped in feet-first with a blend of passion and enthusiasm that inflamed my heart with a protective tenderness. As the Irish say, Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile, “One beetle recognizes another,” and I recognized her: Singer.
I asked Katie O’Neill, a splendid singer and one of the festival organizers, if she’d noticed Grace. “Oh, yes,” she said. “She’s hooked.”
Later, I met her parents and told them what we’d noticed. They were delighted and proud and not too surprised, which is wonderful. They really see her, thank heavens, and I bet they’ll give her every chance to do what she loves.
I don’t have children, a choice I’ve thought and re-thought hundreds of times. Sometimes this choice seems to leave me out of life’s largest motions and movements, its greatest dramas and joys and sorrows. Sometimes I accuse myself of terrible things because of this – of laziness or cowardice, to name just two things (though I should say that I did try for a time; the trouble is, you can always try harder, take more extreme measures, or adopt, and in the end, I decided against those things). Other times I feel proud to have stayed true to myself despite the huge weight of general expectations, the subtle and not-so-subtle pressure by well-meaning people, their questioning and bewilderment.
But when I see a girl like Grace taking wing, or any young singer, poet, writer, or creator, I feel that I do have a place in the greater Family. My job is recognizing “that look” and helping a little to inflame those passions, that self-trust, that questing, beautiful spirit.
In Committed, Liz Gilbert gives childless women a brilliant and self-respecting name, “The Auntie Brigade.” The Aunties of the world provide those extras that can make a difference – the extra attention, books, time, treats, and love that help young people (and everyone, for that matter!) to thrive. I love that, and I’d like to go one better and remove the gender filter because this idea pertains to childless men, too (even though they don’t bear the same stigma we do). After all, the great Merlin didn’t have a son, but he taught Arthur everything he knew about magic.
We seasoned creators are the same, I think. When we look at a crowd and see the one face that is enraptured, something very essential in us wants to foster that spark. When we do, even for a moment, even just by recognizing “that look,” we foster it in ourselves all over again. The living line of singer-to-singer, creator-to-creator is nourished, and we get to witness the great hope of another person coming into her magic.
I’m wishing you a magic life, Grace, and all the pleasure and power of your own magic. Sing out, Singer!
