Something to Sing About

I sometimes suspect that if I were Superman, my Kryptonite would be nostalgia. Any time I take any part of my past out of its lead-lined box, I begin to get weak in the knees. I must say that, unlike Superman, I am still able to speak in complete sentences; nevertheless, my romance with the past has undeniable power.

I should have noted the faint green glow emanating from an envelope I got a couple months back, announcing that the 125th anniversary of my alma mater would be celebrated during this fall’s Homecoming weekend. As further catnip – and now I have mixed my metaphors beyond recognition – the weekend would feature a reunion of the College Choir, singing with the current College Choir under the direction of the director who left at the same time I graduated. Or “was graduated”, if you’re the stickler for grammar I just got done telling you I was.

Despite my known weakness, I’m not a total dupe; it occurred to me that my time-machine experiences in general have not been all I had dreamed of, so I did hesitate before saying yes. But at the same time I had the distinct sense that, whatever the weekend turned out to hold, I would regret it intensely if I missed it – so at pretty close to the last moment, I sent in my registration.

This past Friday morning, I set out on the 300+ mile journey into my past; I drove through clouds and drizzle all day to arrive at a sun-drenched, picturesque campus right out of the college's promotional materials. There was a full schedule of activities planned, and I decided the best way to get a good experience out of the week was to participate in as much as I could.

As I roamed the campus alone, I realized that part of what made the whole experience feel so familiar was the loneliness. Allowing the rosy haze of nostalgia to lift a little, I remembered what a lonely place college had been for me. The difference now was that mine was the loneliness of someone temporarily separated from his loved ones... rather than the loneliness of a kid trying to find a place in the world and wondering if there would ever be a place he'd fit in.

I came to terms early on with the idea that it wasn't going to be a storybook reunion for me; instead I asked myself, why did I come this weekend? First, this is a place that was important to me, so just being there is a treat; second, to enjoy the experience of the choir event -- working under my old director, singing challenging music with a high level of skill. And as it turned out (largely due to managing my own expectations), I had a wonderful time.

One thing I had forgotten is just how chilly it gets out on the Southern Tier this time of year. It was pleasant and sunny during the day, but really plunged after sundown. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I have a bit less insulation on my roof than when I lived out that way.

I also realized along the way that, having left teaching 11 years ago, it's been awhile since I spent extended time around a critical mass of college-age kids. It was a little odd to be immersed in that force field of energy and hormones and interesting fashion/hair choices. But the good news is that it's a Christian school and the vast majority of the kids are well-behaved and pleasant to be around.

The centerpiece of the weekend for me was rehearsal and performance with the current College Choir kids and my old director. I found out for one thing that I've really been coasting for the last 25 years. Nothing against the church choirs I've sung with over the years, but nobody's expecting us to be pros. I immediately noticed that I couldn't sustain my notes as long as a bunch of 20-year-olds! I was gasping like I'd been punched in the stomach.

It was a privilege to work with our old director again, and a thrill to sing with the choir to a packed house; I felt like we really did a terrific job with very little preparation -- and almost all of us 25 years or more away from our last truly high-level performances.

But the experience I'll never forget came before the concert, after we old-timers had had our group photo taken. We were still standing on stage on the risers, with little knots of conversation here & there. Then someone started to sing one of our old numbers (and again, remember, none of us had sung it in at least 25 years!).  Within seconds the entire group was singing along; underneath the music you could hear the faint sound of aging brain cells straining to access the long-locked-away brain-file that contained the song.

Then our old director looked up and, with a look of amusement, walked over and started to direct us.  We got some notes wrong, I know, and we forgot some words, but when we got to the big finish -- sforzando, a strong initial sound, then instantly very quiet, then surging to full voice -- it was like all the years dropped away and we were back in the moment, feeling the joy and pride of making a beautiful sound with great skill together.  It was a sensation of pure exhilaration such as I rarely have a chance to experience.

So while the weekend as a whole was not generally the Perfect Nostalgia Experience, the little voice in the back of my head was right: if I'd missed it, I would have felt a great regret.