Living Life Through Your Children
"You won't catch me living my life through my children," I've thought to myself many times. Well, I've succumbed. My older daughter, who studies cello, had her first orchestra audition this week. It was her first cello audition of any kind. They should not have let me in the room!
I learned to play the cello (the first time) when I was in the 4th grade. For two summers, I walked a mile each weekday morning at 7:00 carrying my cello to the local high school for orchestra practice. At age 10, I did not have to audition for the school orchestra, and private lessons were free at the school. Orchestra is what made playing the cello fun for me. Because my 11-year old daughter is home schooled, she has not had the opportunity to play in an orchestra, and it is something I would like for her to experience before she gives it up.
When I learned that there was a possibility that my daughter could play in a nearby community orchestra, I dragged her to a rehearsal. She went along kicking and screaming. For the first 15 minutes, all she could say was "Mom, when can we leave?" During the next 15 minutes, she was mesmerized. We spoke to the conductor who told us to fill out the online application, and she would get back to us. I followed through on my end, and then we waited. Nearly 3 weeks passed, and we heard nothing.
Finally, I made some phone calls and learned that the application "got lost" in the shuffle. I resubmitted the application and at 10:30 that same night, I received an email telling me to have my daughter ready to audition at 4:30 the next day. It wasn't much warning, but my daughter had been working on her music and her scales and felt ready to go ahead with the audition. At her lesson her teacher, well-known and respected in the musical community, assured my daughter that there was no reason they wouldn't let her play in the orchestra that day, as soon as the audition was complete. That's not how it went down.
To begin with, the auditioning teachers were not ready. They had not looked over my daughter's application and had no idea what she had prepared. Right off the bat, they asked her to play something she was not prepared to play. To make matters worse, they had not chosen the sight-reading portion of the audition ahead of time and deliberated over what they were going to give my daughter to play in front of her. When my daughter heard them say they were giving her the "hardest piece", she freaked out. To my daughter's credit, she ploughed through like a trooper, but she was not in a state of mind to play her best.
When it was all over, they said, "We'll get back to you in a day or two", We both knew that meant, "You're audition was awful, and we need a few days to figure out how we are going to tell you." My blood was boiling, but I bit my tongue until the event was finished. I marched right up to one of the auditioning teachers and asked him why he had not given my daughter an opportunity to play the scales she had prepared as the application indicated. He gave me some answer about how they were in the process of making some changes. I told him that they could have let us know what was expected, and my daughter and I left totally frustrated.
The first words out of my daughter's mouth when we were far enough away for no one to hear her were, "That was awful. I am never going to try out for an orchestra again." I could hardly blame her. Memories of frustrating auditions, exams and music contests flooded my mind, but I could not remember one time (other than sight-reading) where I had been asked to play something I wasn't prepared to play, especially at age 11.
My fury did not subside that afternoon, nor did it go away that evening. About 9:00 p.m., I went for a walk. The stars were out; it was cold. I looked up at the sky and tears streamed down my face. I sobbed uncontrollably. I was angry, and I could not find the strength within me to pray about it. That night, I laid in bed and thought through the events of that afternoon. It was then I realized that there was more to this whole thing than just a bad audition for my daughter. I was doing what every mother says they won't do. I was living my life through my daughter. It may as well have been me sitting there in front of the panel of teachers auditioning for the orchestra. I knew what it felt like to fail. I knew what it felt like to succeed. I wanted to feel the sweetness of success right along with her. I was angry and upset for all the failures I had had, for the chances I never had as a cellist and probably never will have. When I finally acknowledged these truths and faced up to them, I was able to let go and look at things clearly.
As I write this, three days after the audition, we are still waiting to hear from the auditioning panel the news we will most likely hear, "Try again next year." In our case, there probably will not be a next year for cello. After almost 6 years of study, my daughter sees no need to study the cello if there is no place to play it. I don't blame her. Playing in the orchestra drove me to practice as it would her. She will soon ask me if she can quit, and reluctantly, I'll let her. But finally, that's ok with me.
I learned to play the cello (the first time) when I was in the 4th grade. For two summers, I walked a mile each weekday morning at 7:00 carrying my cello to the local high school for orchestra practice. At age 10, I did not have to audition for the school orchestra, and private lessons were free at the school. Orchestra is what made playing the cello fun for me. Because my 11-year old daughter is home schooled, she has not had the opportunity to play in an orchestra, and it is something I would like for her to experience before she gives it up.
When I learned that there was a possibility that my daughter could play in a nearby community orchestra, I dragged her to a rehearsal. She went along kicking and screaming. For the first 15 minutes, all she could say was "Mom, when can we leave?" During the next 15 minutes, she was mesmerized. We spoke to the conductor who told us to fill out the online application, and she would get back to us. I followed through on my end, and then we waited. Nearly 3 weeks passed, and we heard nothing.
Finally, I made some phone calls and learned that the application "got lost" in the shuffle. I resubmitted the application and at 10:30 that same night, I received an email telling me to have my daughter ready to audition at 4:30 the next day. It wasn't much warning, but my daughter had been working on her music and her scales and felt ready to go ahead with the audition. At her lesson her teacher, well-known and respected in the musical community, assured my daughter that there was no reason they wouldn't let her play in the orchestra that day, as soon as the audition was complete. That's not how it went down.
To begin with, the auditioning teachers were not ready. They had not looked over my daughter's application and had no idea what she had prepared. Right off the bat, they asked her to play something she was not prepared to play. To make matters worse, they had not chosen the sight-reading portion of the audition ahead of time and deliberated over what they were going to give my daughter to play in front of her. When my daughter heard them say they were giving her the "hardest piece", she freaked out. To my daughter's credit, she ploughed through like a trooper, but she was not in a state of mind to play her best.
When it was all over, they said, "We'll get back to you in a day or two", We both knew that meant, "You're audition was awful, and we need a few days to figure out how we are going to tell you." My blood was boiling, but I bit my tongue until the event was finished. I marched right up to one of the auditioning teachers and asked him why he had not given my daughter an opportunity to play the scales she had prepared as the application indicated. He gave me some answer about how they were in the process of making some changes. I told him that they could have let us know what was expected, and my daughter and I left totally frustrated.
The first words out of my daughter's mouth when we were far enough away for no one to hear her were, "That was awful. I am never going to try out for an orchestra again." I could hardly blame her. Memories of frustrating auditions, exams and music contests flooded my mind, but I could not remember one time (other than sight-reading) where I had been asked to play something I wasn't prepared to play, especially at age 11.
My fury did not subside that afternoon, nor did it go away that evening. About 9:00 p.m., I went for a walk. The stars were out; it was cold. I looked up at the sky and tears streamed down my face. I sobbed uncontrollably. I was angry, and I could not find the strength within me to pray about it. That night, I laid in bed and thought through the events of that afternoon. It was then I realized that there was more to this whole thing than just a bad audition for my daughter. I was doing what every mother says they won't do. I was living my life through my daughter. It may as well have been me sitting there in front of the panel of teachers auditioning for the orchestra. I knew what it felt like to fail. I knew what it felt like to succeed. I wanted to feel the sweetness of success right along with her. I was angry and upset for all the failures I had had, for the chances I never had as a cellist and probably never will have. When I finally acknowledged these truths and faced up to them, I was able to let go and look at things clearly.
As I write this, three days after the audition, we are still waiting to hear from the auditioning panel the news we will most likely hear, "Try again next year." In our case, there probably will not be a next year for cello. After almost 6 years of study, my daughter sees no need to study the cello if there is no place to play it. I don't blame her. Playing in the orchestra drove me to practice as it would her. She will soon ask me if she can quit, and reluctantly, I'll let her. But finally, that's ok with me.
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