Open windows on yellow buses made every team sound like a choir.
Before we were even allowed to ride team buses, or had the need to, they taught us how to sing in a round — a song where everyone sings the same part at different times. We were only 5 years old when Mr. Iverson came into our classroom and introduced us with this gift. It wasn’t long before together we were rowing boats gently down the stream, running after mice that couldn’t see, even welcoming our sleeping French brother Jacques.
As with so many things, it seemed as if they knew how much we would need this commonality. As we grew, we were given the freedom to make choices. Join groups. Follow ideas. And with this, perhaps without our knowledge or permission, we began to see all of our differences. And begin to make judgements. Maybe that’s inevitable. But maybe that’s why they gave us the songs. The collective music calmed our nerves as we traveled to the event. It also helped us in the commiseration or celebration afterwards. Because in the song, as it made its way around the bus, we were one.
Perhaps more than ever, we need to row our boats merrily, together. Because isn’t it true that we are all on the same team? Aren’t we all asked to go through the same things, only at different times? Fear, anger, confusion, joy, even love — it all makes the rounds. If we could only see that we were all in this together, maybe we’d hear the music once again.
Maybe it’s just a dream, but isn’t that what the song said life was supposed to be? We once sang it so loudly, so hopefully, “Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily…” Perhaps we could sing it again.
