Rhett and I had struggled with the decision as to whether it was right to even let him try for it. The statistical probability of being accepted was incredibly small, and even if he were offered the spot we weren’t sure we’d be willing to let him take it. (Boarding school, traveling without a parent, missing our baby, knowing he would surely miss us…)
But we decided not only to *let* him try but to actually *ask* him to do so. We believed it would provide him an opportunity for growth, practicing keeping an open mind and an open heart, which were high on our goals for Daniel’s “life” education in the year ahead. We told him we wanted him to prepare for the audition in earnest and to do his best, and that if he was offered a spot (which we considered completely unlikely) we would support whatever decision he wanted to make.
To an extent, he did prepare for that audition; sometimes happily, sometimes grudgingly, sometimes happily with the promise of marshmallow rewards or TV time. I'd give him a B- for effort, but he prepared. On the audition day Daniel was excited, but was filled with an intense, freaked out energy. It felt wrong. It felt wrong from the middle of the week leading up to the audition, really. Not wrong to go through with the experience, but it wasn’t going to be right for him to go to that school and join its choir. There were other cues that it wasn’t right such as that he didn’t engage with the other kids and seemed completely terrified the entire time we were on the campus.
The following day, we received an e-mail telling us that Daniel had not been offered a spot in the choir and that the reason was he hadn’t sung well. The e-mail detailed his myriad of deficits and I didn’t doubt them. The description was consistent with how he’d sounded to me in the preceding week.
The part of me that wanted him to have had a good experience and wanted him to feel good about that was sad, and I knew he would be disappointed. But I have to admit that a big part of me felt relieved by the content. It hadn’t felt like home to me there and although I knew it wasn’t about me and whether it felt like my home, I had a niggling feeling about it not being right. That he wouldn’t be happy.
I called Daniel in and told him that he wasn’t being offered a place in the choir and explained why; I even let him read the e-mail. I expected a few tears and a return to play. I thought that would be the end of it for good. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And the surprises were just beginning.
He did shed a few tears, but he didn't stay that way for long. Within a half an hour he wanted an action plan. He wanted to sing, he said. He wanted to go to boarding school and live in a dorm full of friends and take instrument lessons and get more flexible about food and travel and learn Ancient Greek. He insisted! And he begged me to look into other options where he could do this.
Rhett and I discussed it and we agreed that Daniel deserved the opportunity to integrate the lessons he had learned from the experience but I wasn’t going to provide any support that wasn’t absolutely essential for him being able to prepare on his own. I wouldn’t remind or reward or cajole. He could practice or not. He could prepare if he wanted to. And he did. He selected a new audition piece, learned to play the melody on the piano, insisted I track down accompaniment audio. And, of course, he bugged me about making sure he had additional auditions pinned down. (Yes, plural, because he wasn’t taking anything for granted.) And so I did. I reluctantly and with coaxing contacted the music department of St. Paul’s Cathedral - the most famous cathedral choir in the world - and Westminster Abbey. And I told them that my 8 year old wanted to audition.
Westminster asked a lot of questions and sent me things to fill out and return, then scheduled the audition (for early November). St. Paul’s, on the other hand, asked me to first bring him to London for the Chorister Experience Afternoon to see if he really wanted to audition. And I thought to myself “Really? I not only have to take him to London for the audition where they’ll surely end this for good but also for this other thing before hand?” We had both been under the weather that week and I wasn’t especially thrilled about leaving my jammies. But he wanted to go and we’d committed to supporting him in completing the lessons he was learning through this process. It was just one day. Besides, it might be fun. Right?
Yes, it was fun. Daniel was relaxed and happy from the first moment. He met kids and connected with them. He joyfully separated from me to go off for the kid part of the day. Meanwhile, I dutifully listened to the various people talk. They talked about the school and its philosophy, the choir and its achievements and prestige, the lifestyle, the parent involvement. I toured the boardinghouse and saw classes, heard from choristers who happened to be traveling in the halls we walked through, and enjoyed myself in a very passive way, like I was at a museum observing and learning about things which had nothing to do with my life. Only, there it was, a new and quite unwelcome but niggling feeling. A dialogue began within me. “It sounds perfect. It feels perfect.” “No, it’s in London.” “It doesn’t matter. It’s perfect."
And then the kids rejoined the parents and I saw him happy, relaxed, at home. I saw him sing with the choir. I saw a chorister make a goofy face at him in greeting and I saw him reciprocate with his own. I enjoyed sitting with him in Evensong and listening as the choir sang what just happened to be his very favorite anthem in the world. I saw his eyes grow wide, felt his body come to attention beside me, and could almost hear his heart rate speeding up. There was that voice again. "Is this his home?”
Daniel burst out of the audition affirming unequivocally that he wanted to audition for St. Paul’s as soon as he could, so I let them know and the audition was scheduled for yesterday. Most of me did still think that would be the end of St. Paul’s and Daniel might even decide that boarding choir schools must just not be his thing. But off we went, before the sun rose, to London.
When we arrived for the audition Daniel was instantly at home and comfortable with the auditioner (the Cathedral's Director of Music). They chatted for a bit, and then it was time to sing. The director lamented the fact that Daniel's song choice was too low but I could see that as soon as Daniel started singing he was pleased with Daniel's voice.
They then played a sort of game with the song, with the director playing the accompaniment at first but then dropping out and having Daniel sing most of it a cappella. The piano came back in at the end of the song and I could tell the purpose of the game was to test whether Daniel was still in tune. (He was.)
Next, the director asked Daniel to match several pitches as he played them on the piano. Daniel sang each note correctly, and I would have normally expected him to, but the notes came in such quick succession that Daniel was still singing the previous note as the next was played. Still, 100% were spot on.
Then the director played two notes simultaneously and asked Daniel to sing back both pitches separately, one after another. All were correct so the director added a third note to the chord, and again he pitched just fine.
Daniel was next directed to vocalize on arpeggios, singing not on a vowel but instead on a rolled R. They went so far up the keyboard; I honestly couldn't believe the sounds I was hearing come out of my own child. My shock grew more pronounced when the director then called Daniel over to the keyboard and asked him to try to find the top note he had just sung on the keyboard. He did. It was High C#. (My jaw nearly fell open. He sang a freaking HIGH C# on a ROLLED R!!!!)
The director then said to Daniel "I know you don't know anything about the piano but that doesn't matter. Can you sing an A for me?" Daniel looked bewildered. I was confused too. How was Daniel supposed to know what an A sounded like? They discussed this and the director said "well you mentioned your mum had labeled some keys. Did she label the A?" Daniel said "no, that's not one of the notes in Danny Boy and she only labeled the notes for Danny Boy."
The director said "Ah, okay, do you know what a D sounds like then?" Daniel sang a note. The director checked. Yep, he'd sung D. Then he asked "Can you sing me a G?" Daniel instantly sang a stab at a G - this time the one just below that High C#. The director checked and again he was right. They did another few. My jaw really did fall open. The director then explained to me (as if I hadn't figured this out) "I think he is developing perfect pitch."
The director then sat us both down and asked Daniel a lot of questions about himself, taking notes. He got Daniel talking about a book series he's working on with a trilogy inside it. He wanted a plot summary, which Daniel gave. He stopped Daniel periodically and asked him to define words that he'd used in his description, each time seeming astonished that Daniel could do so. He then had Daniel select at random a page from a book of Old English poetry and to read aloud from it. Daniel did this smoothly and correctly, and the director looked simply astounded.
As the final part of the audition he informed us that he is "very, very interested in Daniel," and he wanted to know if this was really what Daniel wanted, and whether both Daniel and his parents fully understood the commitment and responsibilities of being a part of "the most famous cathedral choir in the world."
Daniel enthusiastically affirmed that this is what he wants to do and I affirmed that he has our full support. So here we are, light years from where we began.
Daniel came out of his audition and interview feeling very pleased with the whole thing, incredibly excited, and he can NOT WAIT for the final step - a day at St. Paul's Cathedral School. For me, it's a bit more mixed. Mostly, my heart is exploding with pride at how much he has grown, how much the experience of the first audition inspired rather than defeated him, and I have so much joy as I see him finding joy doing the things that are right for him in the place that is right for him with the people who were right for him. And, of course, I'm more than a little shocked to find that the place and the people might not be where and whom I thought they would be when he's only 8 years old. But Daniel has never been typical and he's never developed along a traditional path; and he's never been more excited about anything.
It still may be that this was a short but intense and amazing formative experience for Daniel as he makes his way in the world. It may also be that this is the beginning of a longer and fuller chapter in our family's journey. Either way, we are so proud of his growth and maturity, and for the opportunity to develop in this way.
