We spent time at the local university on Friday evening because the daughter's high school chamber choir took part in a choir competition.
In addition to our own kids, about 45 parents and other family members watched four groups representing various schools from about a 50 mile radius. Every group had their strengths, and we enjoyed them all.
After our kids were done with their time in front of the judges, they were ushered into another performance space to do "Clinics." While the parents and friends who had witnessed the competition watched, an instructor (not sure where from) worked with the kids and helped them with various technical aspects the songs that they had performed. I simply don't speak music, so I can't explain exactly what they learned, but most of them seemed to get a lot out of the experience.
All but one young lady, that is.
I will refer to her as "J." J was clearly less than thrilled at the clinic portion of the evening. Her boredom was evident and would not have been an issue had she been standing in the back behind the group where the likelihood of the audience seeing her would have been low. Instead she was on the right hand side of the stage, just far enough away from the group to be essentially a big distraction for several audience members, myself included.
She spent the first ten minutes or so picking at something on her face. It must have been a doozy because she contorted her face into several unflattering poses–open mouth, elongated mouth, tongue sticking out of the side of the mouth–and picked and rubbed and grimmaced. She stopped occasionally to mouth the words that the rest of the choir was singing. When she wasn't picking at her face or mouthing words, she was rummaging through her purse. At one point she pulled her cell phone and place it into her bra. Once she was satisfied that she had relieved her face of whatever blemish had been worrying her, she pulled a tube of cover-up out of her purse, removed the lid and rubbed some off onto her finger. After dabbing the picking spot, it was immediately apparent that she had accrued too much coverup on her finger and, to my utter horror, she wiped it off on a seatback in front of her.
It took everything I had not to yell something like, "Hey, pay attention! Don't you know that we can all see you?" But it occured to me that I didn't want to disrupt what the rest of the choir was learning, and that she really didn't realize we could see her–her little world was so clearly only as big as the personal space that surrounded her. She took less notice of the audience than she did of the instructor.
This was a teen moment at its most sterotypical. It was an active portrayal of the ability to only see just beyond one's own nose, to live in complete oblivion of the rest of the world. Actors onstage pertend that there is a fourth wall, that the audience doesn't exist. J didn't need to pretend.
Once beyond the teen years of naval gazing, many of us grow out of the belief that the world is only as big as we choose to see it, and J was clearly the center of her own universe. Sadly, I have known her long enough to strongly suspect that she will be one of the folks whose perception won't ever grow outside of her personal space. She will likely continue to live her life in her bubble and only see life as it affects her. Even when she is in plain sight of the rest of the world, her vantage point won't allow her to see how she is percieved, only what she is focusing on at that moment. Her own stage will remain tiny, as will her life. It is sad, but fairly predictable.
Then again, how much good does it do me to have the capablity to look beyond my own personal space, my own tiny world stage, and see the J's of the world as they move about in complete righteous oblivion? That night I was angry; I spent an hour angry and resentful at this young woman who, in my opinion, showed a complete and utter lack of respect for a fabulous opportunity. The choir program is on the chopping block as the recession deepens. J will likely graduate and not look back or feel pity for the students who follow her who won't have an opportunity to spend a Friday evening at a university competing or learning new music from a master. I wonder if she will ever look back at that small stage fondly and wish she could go back and relive a youthful moment.
And then I wonder why it made me so angry. Maybe because I stand in front of a classroom full of young adults 3 times a week offering up respect and support. The thought that a student would act so carelessly in the face of opportunity drives me nuts. I feel very fortunate that the J's of this world don't stay long in my classroom; there simply is not enough room for their oblivion on my world stage.
