Yesterday, I went to Edda’s 4th grade choral concert. There were perfomances during the school day for the other grades and in the evening for parents. Edda (and I) skipped the evening performance – Edda’s teacher would have had to come in during the evening (she was happy to do it and offered it kindly) – but something about being surrounded by ten thousand excited parents with iPhones and iPads aloft would have been too much for me (although maybe not, it’s always hard to predict).
Anyways, during the day, I could touch base with all the staff that works with Edda everyday. I don’t go into school very often and Edda’s been at the same school since kindergarden, so I like to head in when I have occasion to do so. I asked all of them if they were working this summer and none of them are, they are all taking a well-deserved break. “Two weeks left!” – like a mantra.
Always beforehand, with these things, I fully expect to feel sad. And I do. But Edda’s teachers and aides were all so clearly happy and excited for Edda and rushed up to me when I was walking down the hall towards the classroom. They told me that Edda was so happy all morning for the performance and that she was excited that I was coming to watch. It’s hard to feel so melancholy among other people’s excitement. So I was really that odd mix of happy and sad at the same time. Bittersweet? I don’t like that that word starts with bitter. Sweetbitter? Not that either. Someday I will find the right word.
There is something odd about a choral concert for a kid who can’t talk. There were some instrumental sections – that was Edda’s part – Ms. Z helped her hold castanets and shake them with the beat and Edda was happy and pleased. She does love a good song.
Fourth grade! Time goes by so quickly. I remember when Edda was little like this guy (he’s being held by one of Edda’s former teachers):