The Maestro

Last week on some night, William was lying in our big queen bed, because he didn't want to sleep in his bed. I was about to drag him (kicking and screaming, of course) into his room, but he ran over and hit the Sleep button on my little clock radio and begged "mu-sik?" I thought I'd let him indulge in one song, since it's always tuned to the classical station anyway. I was hoping it would be something mellow.

He climbed up onto the bed, flopped down, and tucked his legs under the covers. After he had settled, I realized exactly what was playing on the radio -- it was my favorite piece of music in all of classical music: Mahler's 2nd Symphony, "Resurrection," the fifth movement. It is a masterful piece of music, and William apparently liked it, too.

I watched him in silence, in the mostly darkness of our room as he lay on his back and shot his arms up into the air triumphantly at the climax of the symphony -- which is incredible -- then waved them majestically as the music descended back into a decrescendo. We both listened quietly as the music soared one last time, all the while, his arms conducting the music as it swept upward. He then struck his fingers into the air again at the final crashing crescendo, and the applause thundered. William yelled "Yeah!" and joined in the clapping himself. I hugged him and cheered and clapped along with him.

I hit the Snooze button to turn off the radio, and carried him into his bedroom. It was a nice five minutes at the symphony with my little boy conducting the massive orchestra and choir.