A Sense of Community

This being my first post for Malvern Patch, I should introduce myself in some pithy and interesting way. But I can never do that without it sounding forced, so I’ll give you the short boring version: I’m a writer and web designer living in Charlestown Township. Really, though, I think of myself as much more than that. For instance, I’m a “music mom.”

By my count, over the years I have watched my children perform in more than 14 school musicals, 52 school concerts, and four years worth of band cavalcades and marching band half-time shows. Add to that years of voice, piano, and cello recitals, and you can understand why I say I feel like I’ve spent almost a quarter of my life sitting on hard auditorium seats.

I always enjoy the performances, but in the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that as the performance dates approach I am often filled with a sense of dread. Because while I look forward to the concerts, I do not look forward to getting to them. Invariably the day of an event, I have been chained to my computer all day working on a client problem, and suddenly it’s five o’clock and I’m still in my pajamas. I don't have a good answer to the dinner question and, anyway, we have to rush through dinner.

The concert doesn't start until 7:30, but the performers have to be there by 6:30. After I drop off my child, I realize it's ridiculous to drive home for 20 minutes only to turn around and drive back, so I mill about in the lobby with the other stranded parents because the doors to the auditorium are locked and will remain so until the lobby is packed with bodies desperate not to touch each other. The doors finally open, I rush in and am unable to get a seat any closer to the stage than the dead middle. The seat in front of me is empty, but not for long, as it is being saved by a woman for her 6’8” husband; I am 5'1". The start time of the concert comes and goes. Young children begin to whine. I wonder if the air conditioning is broken. Finally the musicians enter and tune their instruments, and the music starts and I forget about the hassle and am so happy to be there.

Anyway.

All of this is coming to an end. My son, who is my youngest child, is graduating from Great Valley High School this June. Now I am in the season of "lasts" – last school concert, last marching band performance, last high school musical.

I was reminded of this fact two nights ago when I was at the high school for a music parents’ meeting. I arrived early and passed the auditorium where a dress rehearsal for this year's musical, Les Miserables, was in full swing. I stopped in the hallway and listened to the cast members singing and the pit musicians playing, the music sounding loudly through the closed doors. It was beautiful. I remembered that it would be the final time my son performed in the pit. I felt my lower lip tremble and congratulated myself on having been too lazy to apply mascara.

Then I continued on to my meeting.

When my son applied to college this past fall, he wrote in an essay that, up to this point in his life, music has defined him. And it has – his musical activities have not only shaped him into the young man he’s become, but they have been one of the ways in which he has become part of the Great Valley community.

I didn’t realize until I started writing this post how much music has shaped me, too. Not because I play an instrument (piano, poorly) or sing (you should run far far away if I start), but because it, too, has helped me to become part of this community.

A few years ago, one of my husband’s clients, a woman who lives and works in Philadelphia, came out to our house to drop off some documents. She looked around our property and said, “It’s beautiful here. But I could never live in a place that didn’t have a sense of community.”

I thought of some not-very-nice things to say, but bit my tongue.

As a music mom, I know that all it takes to find a sense of community is to get involved. So I sewed (very badly) buttons and basted hems on costumes for the six years that my daughter sang in the middle and high school musicals. And for the past four years, almost every Friday in the fall you would’ve found me at one of my favorite places: the Dog Shack at Great Valley Stadium. That’s the concession stand where the music parents sell hotdogs, hamburgers, and the world’s best fries to fans who come out to watch the football game and the marching band show. Those people in the “Shack” are part of my community, and now that my son is graduating, I’m sad at leaving them behind.

When I was at the high school the other night, I saw some parents helping with the musical: moving props, adding some last-minute paint to the set, adjusting costumes. Here’s the thing: three of the parents I saw no longer had children at the high school – their kids have already graduated, but the parents come back to help because that’s one of the places where they feel a sense of community. They’re helping the students and spending time with old friends.

It’s that way in the Dog Shack, too. People return year-after-year because they want to help, and they feel welcome. So maybe next fall you’ll see me at the concession stand laughing with a friend and stirring a crock-pot full of meatballs. (Finally! Something for which I’m well suited, which uses the skills I’ve honed over years of barely dealing with the dinner question.)

This weekend, you’ll find me in the Great Valley High School auditorium, waiting for Les Mis to begin, praying that a woman with very big hair does not plop down in the seat in front of me. At the end, when the performers come out for their final bow, I’ll applaud for everyone: for the marvelous actors who brought the show to life, and the stage crew who made those set changes happen, and the lighting and sound crew who made sure the spotlight was in the right place at the right time and that the microphones worked. I’ll be applauding the director and the teachers and parents who helped. But most of all, I’ll be applauding the musicians because I’m a music mom and without their amazing playing the musical would not have been a musical.