Last weekend, I attended a virtual piano recital featuring two of my nephews—one in New York and one in New England. The teacher was in North Carolina, and the other two students were in Florida.
The viewers logged on from all over, identifying themselves as uncles and aunts and cousins, some waving to the person they were there to hear.
The whole performance was absolutely charming. The young piano students talked about how long they had been playing and then performed their pieces—”Let It Be” and “Imagine” and songs I didn’t know but thoroughly enjoyed. The performers were serious and committed to their work, but there was also a beautiful casualness that comes with a Zoom gathering, especially a Zoom gathering with children. There was the vacuum casually posed in one performer’s background and the younger sister peering around the corner of the screen.
Instead of sitting in a stiff, formal concert hall, we could unmute ourselves to praise a child for the chords he played during the Star Wars theme or to thank the teacher for putting such a lovely performance together.
My 11-year-old godson, who performed, has only been playing the piano for eight months, but he played with passion, seriousness, and excellence. My other nephew who played has only been taking lessons for about a year, and he was also exceptional. I was so proud of them—and surprised how much they had learned in such a short time.
I found myself thinking about what I’ve learned over the past eight months. I haven’t taken anything on that is as engaging as learning a new instrument. I’ve learned about caring for pet finches and how to track down vaccine appointments and how to shave onions with a mandolin. The most musical progress I’ve made is discovering that Dolly Parton songs make a good soundtrack for cooking.
As I watched the concert, I thought about my own sons and what they might have learned during the pandemic. They have probably gained confidence and resilience. They’ve acquired a whole new understanding of their parents’ jobs—and they think they know some of my colleagues so well that my younger son came rushing over to talk to the president a couple of weeks ago when he called. I handed over my phone and listened as they chatted about the end of the school year. I wondered, as I often do, what these blurred work-family lines will mean long term. I suppose no one knows.
What I hope, though, is that when this pandemic is just a memory that some of the best aspects remain—those that help us stay connected, those that allow us to share experiences together from afar, and those that add beauty to our lives. Let’s keep the virtual children’s piano recitals—pretty please with a virtual cherry on top.
Toward what I thought would be the end of the concert, a few guests for the concert had been stuck in the Zoom waiting room and missed hearing the beginning. So, the students went around again and each played a song—some replaying one that was a particular favorite.
We clapped our muted (but visible) applause for each song, and then we waved goodbye and went on our way. And all I could feel was gratitude for being able to be entertained and fully present from afar.
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