Journey to the Soul

David Stryker, 16, USA

I have grown up in a family whose love for music is unending. My growth has been marked not when I started kindergarten or high school, but according to a set of musical standards. My mother often told me, "Your father played you a record of Rachmaninoff when you were only three months old." My father loved his music. On Saturday mornings he would lock himself in his office, pick up a copy of the Times and listen to music. Every time my father turned the key of the car the next thing that went on was the radio. He filled my mind with music, which when I was young I resented him for. I never understood why he kept forcing me to listen to his music and each time he did I would always reply with, "Ugh classical music again" I did not know what to expect when I was invited to Tanglewood, almost four years after his death. Would this bring back feelings of resentment towards my father or would it bring me closer to him? I was ready for the worst.

I prepared like a young child getting ready for his first day of school. I put on a new white shirt and freshly ironed pants so I could fit in with a more knowledgeable and aware crowd. Approaching the "great lawn", as I later called it, I was in awe of its beauty, seemingly untouched for thousands of years. I felt as if I had just broken free from the bondage of everyday life. There was a slight breeze serving to add to an already perfect evening. The wispy clouds in the western sky were outlined by a warm crimson color given off by the slowly setting sun.

Innocent young children were scattered throughout the crowd playing games that only they could understand. Although the only people I knew were the friends that accompanied me that evening I knew everyone. I was a stranger in a foreign land but what surrounded me felt like home. This home was not mine though, it was my father's. My father had been there often and had told me about the great memories he had. I was skeptical about how great a place could be where you just sat and listened to classical music all evening. I soon realized though that my father's world was one which was just waiting to be discovered.

Andre Previn walked onto stage and looked up at the sky as if looking for divine guidance. The crowd erupted in cheers as he took the podium. When he took his first step onto the podium he went from seventy-year-old man to the focus of all 10,000 people in attendance. The noise level disintegrated and there was not a person in the crowd who would dare to even whisper. The silence was eerie and with it came a sense of anxiousness for what lied ahead. Previn then picked up his baton and took command of his army of musicians.

The first chord of Beethoven's 9th Symphony penetrated the crowd with the same sharpness and quickness as a knife through flesh. It was not Beethoven's perfect combination of harmony and melody that changed me but the fusion of the two to make a beautiful piece of music. For the first time I got a glimpse into my father's world and I realized that I had always had a piece of my father inside of me. Each note added another color to the cascading waterfall and soon every color that one could dream of was present in the music.

The final chord came like each that preceded it, with power and emotion. This chord though brought together each of the colors that were present in the previous chords into a beautiful combination. It led each person into an expansive open field with grass that seemed to go on forever. It took them by the hand and brought each person to his idea of heaven but in each vision a beautiful array of colors was present molded together to form a perfect union. It brought me into a world not of my own though but of my father's. It was my father's world, which I began to experience and enjoy for this now was my heaven.

My father never explained to me how to enjoy music. Even today I still do not know why. He exposed me to music, and even though I resented it then, I now know why he forcing me to listen. I still have some resentment towards him for forcing me to do something he knew I hated but I am grateful for what he did. Every day that goes by I miss him, but music has brought me closer to him. When I heard the final chord of Beethoven's 9th symphony it concluded my journey, but in a sense my journey had just begun. I now realize what he was trying to teach me but there is still so much I need to learn. I don't know if I'll every complete my journey, but I know that each step I take will bring me closer to him.