A Failed Attempt

I don't like the symphony. Nope, not one bit. When I was a little girl, say 6 or 7, my mom and her best friend had an idea; an idea that they thought would be brilliant. Oh, how they were wrong.

At this time in my life the Utah Symphony had some sort of promotion going on: a children symphony day. The idea was to fool parents into buying a years worth of once-a-month-Saturday afternoon-symphony tickets to a special showing just for kids. My mother, along with hundreds of other mothers along the Wasatch Front, fell for this scheme, honestly believing that it was their duty as mothers to culture their children and force them to gain an appreciation for the symphony.

As a child, Saturdays were precious days. They were the sweet reward I received for making it through another long, painful week of school. I would wake up early, rush down the stairs and join Alex on the couch where were would watch hours of Saturday Morning Cartoons. My personal favorite was Recess, although I thoroughly enjoyed any and all cartoons that were shown those mornings. After I had rotted my brain for an hour or two watching television, I would run down to Alyssa's or Mikelle's with my American Girl Dolls, Felicity under one arm and Addy under the other. There the three of us would play school or camp or any other imaginary game that little girls play with their favorite and most beloved dolls. Sometimes we would take a dinner break and other times we would jump on the trampoline for ten minutes to stretch our legs, but 90% of the day was dedicated to the six American Girl Dolls that we owned collectively. Before I knew it, I was brushing my teeth, my mom was reading me a bedtime story and my cherished Saturday was over.

That is, that's what I did 3 out of the 4 Saturday's of the month. The last Saturday was sacrificed to the Utah Symphony against my will. Where before Saturdays had been a treasure, this Saturday was now the most dreaded day of the month. It was an all day affair; I missed the whole day of American Girl Dolls and Saturday Morning Cartoons. It was a kid's worst nightmare. To top things off, I had to wear a dress and tights. As a seven year old, was there anything worse than wearing a dress and tights on a Saturday? No, there wasn't. So, we all piled in the car, all with a frown on our face, and drove to Abravanel Hall where we met up with Lauri and her children, all sporting that same frown on their faces. And then we sat through what seemed like hours of violins and other string instruments. I'm sure that in order to hold up their end of the bargain the Symphony tried to make it as kid-friendly as possible, but let's be real, how kid-friendly can a symphony be? We did our best to entertain ourselves: I specifically remember Alex and McKay teaching me and Blaire how to make paper airplanes while the music played, so I guess it was good for something. The only pleasant memories I have of going to the symphony was when there was an upcoming holiday; there would always be a man in a bunny suit or dressed up as Santa Clause who would give us a piece of candy. It was that candy that got me through the symphony. Other than the candy and paper airplanes, I hated it. I hated it so much that even now, when I hear the word symphony I cringe just a little.

So, mom and Lauri, it was a good thought. You deserve an A for effort. You did your best to get your children to appreciate the symphony, it just wasn't my thing. Dolls and Cartoons captured my heart long before the harmonic elements of music even had a chance. Maybe years from now I'll mature enough to even entertain the idea of attending the symphony, but until then, I'll consider the Children's Symphony Day a failed attempt.