From my perch atop the exit steps, I see what no one else sees: Scarlett, directly in front of me, yet centuries removed. The bursting auditorium banished me to this private box, making the sometime-benefits of tardiness apparent, as I find myself level with the stage. Another dad appears and jokes, “Best seat in the house.” How true.
If I close my eyes, I think I hear a professional orchestra, when in reality the players are young adolescents. Fifteen hours of rehearsal, over three days, two weekends, has forged this group of East Island teens into an ensemble of diamonds, shining bright in the blazing stage lights.
Two selections feature significant horn parts, and even my tin ear appreciates the deep melodies. I’m enraptured by orchestral music in a way I’ve never felt before. Scarlett is locked in, a child transformed to marvelous adulthood in the playing of a horn, the alliance of musicians.
My improvised seat affords me easy access to the exit hallway after the thunderous ovation subsides. Scarlett approaches, smiling and satisfied, to accept my love and congratulations and query me regarding my impressions. I am her father and she is my daughter, and for this moment that is everything in the world.
An orchestra is greater than the sum of its parts: a group of individuals works at their peak, together, in relationship with other individuals, to attain divine results. This combination of individual and group is the highest level of human experience. It is a state to which we should all aspire.