Discerning D's next steps.

As some of you know, Daniel recently auditioned for an elite, internationally touring boy choir. 

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 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 after that he did not have to go. We wanted him to consider it with an open mind and heart, and that if he got in (which we considered to be completely unlikely) we would support whatever decision he wanted to make.

He did prepare for that audition; sometimes happily, sometimes grudgingly, sometimes happily with the promise of marshmallow rewards or TV time. But he prepared. On the audition day D was excited, but in an intense, kind of freaked out energy. It felt wrong from the start of the day. From the middle of the week leading up to the audition, really. Not wrong for him to go through with the experience, but like 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 many failings and I didn’t doubt them. The description with 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 for him, and I knew at an ego level 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.

Daniel did shed a few tears and he was upset, but he very quickly 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 his first audition 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 so he could practice with what he’d hear in his next audition. And, of course, he bugged me about making sure he had additional auditions (yes, plural, because he wasn’t taking anything for granted) pinned down. 

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 both had a cold that week and I wasn’t especially thrilled about leaving my jammies. But he wanted to go and we’d committed to supporting D 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. D 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 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, a new niggling feeling started to happen. Dialogue began within me. “It sounds perfect. It feels perfect.” “No, it’s in London.” “It doesn’t matter. It’s perfect.” “No, surely not.” 

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 get wide and could almost feel his heart rate speeding up. “Is this his home?”

Daniel affirmed unequivocally that he most definitely wanted to audition for St. Paul’s, so I let them know and the audition was scheduled for yesterday. Most of me thought that would be the end of St. Paul’s and D might even decide that boarding choir schools must just not be the thing for him. But off we went, before the sun rose, to London.

When we arrived for the audition he was instantly at home and comfortable with the auditioner (aka the Director of Music - DOM)

First off, the issue of accompaniment came up because the sheet music had printed out looking crazy and wasn't going to work. But it turned out the DoM had a copy in the office and transposed it to D's key, groaning about how it was sooooo low and lamenting my foolish parenting, but in a light way. Then he played along as D sang it and I could see on his face that he was pleased with D's voice.

Then he had D do a sort of game with the song, playing the accompaniment at first but then dropping out and having D sing most of it a cappella but then came back in at the end to test whether he was still in tune. (He was.)

Next, he asked D to match several pitches as he played them on the piano. D got each one right, and I would have expected him to but the DoM was playing them in such quick succession that D was still singing the previous note as the DoM played the next one. Still, 100% were spot on. Then he played two notes simultaneously and asked D to sing back both pitches. One after another D sang them; all were correct. He was more sure of the notes than I was. And then the DoM added a third note to the chord to see if he could do it with three notes. Again, no problem. 

Then the DoM had D 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. 

D was standing opposite the piano for all of this so he couldn't see the keys, and he called D over to the keyboard and started doing even more things that weren't expected parts of the audition (according to the handout we were given). He asked D to see if he could pick out what 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!!!!)

Then the DoM said "I know you don't know anything about the piano but that doesn't matter. Can you sing an A for me?" D looked bewildered. I was confused too. How was D supposed to know what an A sounded like? They discussed this and the DOM said "well you mentioned your mom had labeled some keys. Did she label the A?" D said "no, that's not one of the notes in Danny Boy and she only labeled the notes for Danny Boy."

The DOM said "Ah, okay, do you know what a D sounds like?" D sang a note. The DOM checked. Yup. D. Then he asked "Can you sing me a G?" D instantly sang a stab at a G - this time the one just below that High C#. The DoM checked and he was right. They did another few. My jaw really did fall open. The DoM then explained to me (like I hadn't figured this out) "I think he is developing perfect pitch." 

Then he showed D how wrong it was for him to be singing his piece down so low. He showed him what he'd demonstrated he was capable of singing and where his voice sounded most beautiful, and then where Danny Boy had been focused. He said "Your voice doesn't belong down here. It belongs up here.” 

Then he sat us both down and asked D a lot of questions about himself, taking notes. He got D talking about a book series he's decided to write (his own story - not scripted; hallelujah) with a trilogy inside it. He wanted a plot summary, which D gave. He interrupted and asked questions which D answered without being annoyed by the interruptions. He asked D if he knew the definition of "trilogy" since he'd used it. D answered "it's a group of three." The director looked amazed.

He then had D select at random a page from a book. It opened to medieval poetry. He asked D to read aloud, which D did smoothly. He pointed to a word and asked him if he could read that. He immediately said "manifest." The DoM again looked amazed. (I really didn't think that was amazing at the time, but now I do for a completely different reason than I think the DoM did.)

Then he sat us down and wanted to discuss with great seriousness whether D understood the commitment and responsibilities of being a part of "the most famous cathedral choir in the world." He and D discussed that in real depth and D continually affirmed that yes, he really wants this. Then the DoM asked me how I thought D would do boarding; I said I was certain he'd do fine. Then the DoM asked D to go to another room so the adults could talk privately. D opened his book and he didn't return to interrupt (a major wow!).

The DoM said he's "very, very interested in D" and wanted to know not only would Daniel thrive, but would I be okay with my baby living away? He said he wanted D to come back for the final step of the audition and as soon as possible. 

For the final step, we are to drop D off at the Cathedral School at the beginning of a school day and he'll have school type activities with the other students, he'll also have academic tests administered, and then he'll repeat the audition he already did for a few other people such as the singing teacher. This could happen this week or might be after the half term holiday, so in three weeks.

D 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 D 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 D 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.