We went to see the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra play one of their family shows. Poppet is now a seasoned MSO patron, having seen many concerts over the years. Even though they’re geared for smaller children, she especially enjoys the family shows for they are more intimate. The orchestra is pared down and more accessible to the audience.
Saturday’s show was a wonderful, interactive experience. The music accompanied actor, Stephen Curry, who narrated the story The Happiness Box. Each musician wore a T-shirt, coloured according to the section in which they played; the string players, (Poppet’s favourite), wore blue, the brass section wore red, the woodwind, (my favourite), wore green and the percussion section wore yellow.
As the conductor introduced the orchestra, he asked the audience why the musicians were wearing different coloured shirts. One young girl, towards the front replied, “So that each section knows what the other’s doing.”
“Yes,” the conductor responded enthusiastically. “That’s one way of looking at it. Is there another reason why they’re wearing different coloured shirts?”
Poppet’s hand went straight up, along with lots of other hands. It was at this point that I became completely torn. I always encourage Poppet to ‘have a go’ and to be involved, so a part of me was really pleased that she wanted to participate.
The other part of me, the part that knows that if she were to answer the question, she may come from way out of left field, confusing everyone listening. I was hoping like mad she wouldn’t be chosen.
“Yes, young lady,” said the conductor smiling at directly at Poppet. A sea of faces turned to look at her.
There was no time for me to intervene. Normally I’d expand on the question so that she could digest what was being asked of her, thus helping her to think through her response.
I usually do this when it’s just one on one with an interested stranger or even a family friend. However this time, there was an audience and the conductor was on a roll, building up the anticipation of the performance.
Completely unphased by all of this, Poppet smiled her lovely smile and spoke up. At the top of her voice she replied, “Um. Can they also wear pink and white?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, some two hundred people collectively turned to look at the conductor. There was a sense of anticipation. All the adults in the auditorium were looking at him wondering how he would respond to this one, knowing he wasn’t supposed to dampen the enthusiasm, let alone a young girl’s eagerness to participate. All the youngsters in the audience were still wondering what she meant by ‘pink’ and ‘white’, given those colours weren’t even on stage.
I sat there, quickly calculating whether or not I should interject and try to elaborate on my daughter’s logic. This was something that has taken me over five years to learn and was something this man couldn’t fathom in such a short space of time, from this child with an intellectual disability.
Things were moving too quickly, though. The opportunity was quickly lost.
“Well,” he said, hesitantly. I could see from his face, his mind was racing, wondering how he could tie Poppet’s response into a reasonable segue.
“Er, yes that’s possible too.”
Nope. He had nothing.
There was a brief pause in his patter and then he said, “Each colour represents the types of instruments being played.” I imagined everyone collectively breathed a sigh of relief. He’d steered us back on track.
The poor man. He’d struck out with both responses. The second one though left him in a pickle, even though he gallantly carried on. I hope this afternoon’s encounter hasn’t left him feeling embarrassed or worse, less likely to ask a question of another child with Down syndrome.