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Last night was Finchie�s choir concert. Aside from the fact that I had to sit through the orchestra and womens' ensemble and the Chamber Choir before he even got on stage it was a night to remember.

MOTH often thinks of our town as a large city, and by comparison to where he grew up, it is. But then so is Mayberry. But I don�t think of our town as so large. We have only one high school, and it�s the same building as when I graduated in 1975 (with a few additions since) and the same building as when my father graduated in �.um�whenever.

I sat in the auditorium, and right in front of me was a girl with whom I attended high school. Pam and I were in choir together, and our claim to fame was singing a duet in the State music contest and getting a first place medal. We (the choir) also made a record in the winter of 1974, recorded in the church building I now attend. And on that very recording (a 33 1/3 LP which I still own) is the song Still, Still, Still which was my mother�s favorite and one of mine.

So anyway, last night I sat there looking at the stage, waiting for my Finchie to take his place on the risers. Of course, being as short as he is (although taller than me), he wasn�t on a riser, he was in the front row. Just as I used to be.

And it hit me.

There was my son, my youngest. Standing on the same stage I used to stand, wearing the robes of the same choir to which I once belonged. My choir director, now retired, is now the accompanist, he too was on the stage; the same stage that Eldest sang on and acted; the stage upon which I once stood and sang, and acted; the same stage upon which my dad once played basketball. And in the audience was not only Finchie�s proud mom and step-MOTH, but also his proud grandparents, my parents, sitting there as they did for each and every event I performed.

Then the music began�and it�s difficult to adequately describe. The piano began a familiar introduction, soft scales, and the choir joined in with a soft �ooh.� And I closed my eyes and remembered each note with tears running down my cheeks, and my lips formed the words silently�.

Still, still, still�one can hear the falling snow�..

They were singing not only the same song but the very same arrangement that I had sung. And I hadn�t forgotten a single word, note, nor rest. Pam, in front of me, turned around, also weeping and smiled at me, and I nodded and we moved our lips as our children took us back 30 years to just yesterday.

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