Layla and the Undisciplined High School Kids

Several years ago, after our church choir sang at a funeral Mass for a fellow parishioner and good friend, I told our music director, Frank DeProspo, that I wanted him to play the instrumental “piano exit” to the original Layla at my funeral. With a twinkle in his eye, Frank responded, “You know that’s not liturgically correct,” to which I answered, “This, coming from a guy who played Margaritaville at Tom Williamson’s funeral!”

Another fellow choir member overheard us and asked me, “Why Layla?” I gave her a flippant, off-the-cuff answer. That answer felt disrespectful, and I’ve regretted ever since. But honestly, I had no idea how to answer truthfully. To me, music is a language, the language of my soul. Unfortunately, there’s no “Music to English” dictionary that can find the right words to express the meanings and emotions of a composition. It took a high school choir class to find those words for me.

One of my retirement jobs is working as a substitute teacher. Subbing keeps me in the classroom while allowing me to set my own schedule. The exception is when I get a request from Madeline Poe, the choral director at Beachside High School in St. Johns, Florida. When she texts, I’m there. She’s a phenomenal teacher, a better person, and her students are always wonderful. I sometimes even think of the kids as my own, even though they’re not. Recently, these students helped me find an accurate “music vocabulary,” and a whole lot more.

On this particular day, the students took the initiative to rehearse the showcase piece of their upcoming spring concert, a medley from Phantom of the Opera. But it was far from a traditional practice session. All discipline went out the window. Oh, the student singers hit every note dead on and in perfect balance – but all while mugging to the music! They jumped and twirled and danced and bounced and whirled each other around with not one iota of self-consciousness. Their faces glowed as they surrendered to the joy of the moment. It seemed as though they had shattered their human shells to reveal their true nature – the real nature God created within us all.

Too often, I “define” people by their appearance or their roles in relation to my life. A check-out clerk. A corporate executive. A bike-rider. I think other people – maybe even you – do the same thing. Unfortunately, when we do that, we don’t see the humanity behind the function. And when that happens, we can’t overcome the superficial, man-made differences that prevent us from seeing the dignity of each and every person we encounter.

That realization is the gift Madeline’s kids gave me. After more than half a century, it helped me understand why Layla’s instrumental coda captivates my soul. It expresses joy. It reflects finality, timelessness, and eternity all at the same time. It exposes our humanity. It’s a reminder that we’re all made in God’s image and should always – always – treat each other that way.  And that’s one heck of a lesson from a bunch of undisciplined high school kids.

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