Listening in Community Sweetens Hard Lessons

In the middle of a final drum performance, River searches the small audience. I see, but as teacher, I must concentrate on supporting other drummers doing solos. I finally glance back and this talented drummer is slumped in the chair barely moving, face crumpled, wet with tears. The next soloist is confident, so I catch River’s eye and sit up dramatically straight, modeling good drumming posture. I give a gentle reassuring smile. River’s turn is next!  The 12-year-old sits up, and rises to the challenge, playing a solo obviously preplanned. But the facial expression does not change. The moment passes, and River collapses back into the chair.  After the performance, I motion – come here!

“What’s wrong dear heart?” I ask.

River looks away and kicks a pebble on the pavement. “She didn’t come.”

I wait for River to look back at me. “Who didn’t come?”

River looks me in the eye, then down again. “Mommy. She didn’t come.”

“It sounds like you really wanted her to see you drumming.”

“Yes, but she didn’t bother to come.” River kicks another pebble hard, hitting a nearby lamppost with a ping.

“You think she could have come,” I say.

“Yes, but she didn’t care enough.” A third pebble flies all the way across the empty courtyard, startling River.

“You would have felt more cared for if she were here.

“Yes.”  River eyes a fourth pebble, but decides against kicking it.

“I don’t know why she didn’t come, she just doesn’t care.” River’s arms form a knot across the chest.

“Did she have to work?”

“No. She takes care of old grandma and the baby.” River’s eyes roll.

I think of the many reasons why that work could have kept her away.

 “Is there any way of knowing without a doubt why she didn’t come?”

“I guess not.” River shifts from foot to foot.

“She’s important to you.”

“Yes. I want her to see I’m a good drummer.”

“You are very good. You worked hard at this. Her approval means a lot to you.”

River’s arms hang loose. “Yes, I love her and she loves me, so it is really important.”  

“It sounds like there’s a lot of love between you.”

 “Yes.” River stands still, looking at our shoes.

“And you really don’t know why she didn’t come.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I noticed you were missing her and sad for part of the drumming.”

“Yes.”  

“So now you have a choice.”

River looks up, confused.  

“I do? What choice?” animated now, River’s hands fly up. “She isn’t here!”

I nod and smile, gently. Waiting.

“What choice?” River asks with another sigh.

“You can choose to sit and wonder why she isn’t here, or you can join the party inside and ask her why when you get home. If you choose to sit, a counselor and I will stay nearby to keep you safe.”

As if summoned, a camp counselor approaches us, “River? Aren’t you coming to the party? You were such a great drummer – you deserve the cake and soda!”

“You thought I was good?”

“You were great!  – right Ms. Gibbons?”

“Yes, you did a terrific solo. And were a leader in your section.”

“You noticed?”  asks River.
“Everyone noticed!” says the counselor. “Would you come join the party or do you need to stay here.”

River lifts a relaxed fist to chin. “What kind of cake is it?”

“There’s both chocolate and vanilla cake. You can choose.”

“Hmmm…I guess I can be sad and still eat cake,”

“I guess you can dear heart,” I smile.

So many times, parents cannot be there for the young people I serve. Many work several jobs or are caregivers, or have disabilities. There are so many reasons why.

Arts including music feed the mind and the soul. They are enough in themselves. But I see life lessons sweetened and made much easier to swallow by drum circles, choruses, and music classes.

Have you ever been sad, but decided to still celebrate your achievements? Have you ever put off judgment on a situation until you had more facts? What sweetens your life, making hard lessons easier to process?