You try not to cry.
Absolutely mind-blown
by the ability, the skill,
the prowess,
the intensity of his
parts, his movement,
his seamless integration
with this group, a group
that plays and moves
as if it were one body.
The tug comes from
different directions.
On the one hand, you miss him.
He has been away from home
for nearly six months preparing
for this moment.
On the other hand, you’re
overcome with pride for
the boy’s hard work and success.
You wonder at the heights
the young man has traversed
and most of it had nothing
to do with you. Merely a
cheerleader on the side,
you didn’t push or insist
or hold a standard up for him.
You didn’t even know
what the standard was.
On still another hand,
the music moves you.
There are few listening
experiences as powerful
as a great indoor percussion
performance. One must be dead
inside not to feel anything. This
particular performance ends
with these incredibly timed
and precise stops, the count
for which is almost imperceptible
and the accuracy is astonishing.
A final stance is struck.
The piece is over.
The crowd goes wild.
You lift up all four of your arms
and wave them around like a mad man.
michael jarmer 