Alma

 Freestone is funny and talkative, so much so that he can drive a person nuts sometimes.  He just does not shut up, ever.  I think if he did, we'd be worried.  Actually, he has given me cause to worry this year.  Starting in September, he was listless and angry.  He hated school and wouldn't perform, but he mostly took out his aggression on the violin and his mom, the two things that he decided were ruining his life the most.  I told him that he simply has to suffer a little bit, and if he couldn't conquer a few minutes of violin practice every day, he wouldn't be able to do much with his life.  I did ease up on the poor kid, and lo and behold, he started doing even better on violin.  School too.  The homework situation was so out of control that we finally came up with a plan that Freestone would only do homework on Sunday morning.  That left the entire week "devoid of devoir," to mix French and English.  Even though we usually forget about the homework until Sunday night, it has been a profound relief not to have it hanging over his head every single day.

Every problem has a solution, and while it might not always be permanent, or completely solve the problem, tweaking is a good thing.  I relate it to the soundpost in a violin.  It's a little dowel of wood that you can tap around inside the instrument.  In Spanish, it's called the "alma," the soul, because it creates the sound, the life of the violin.  Each miniscule movement changes the sound.  There is, theoretically, one spot where the sound will be the best.  It's trial and error.  But you can't make every violin sound like a Strad.  With kids it's the same; you tweak here and there, you try to achieve the best resonance, the most balance.  You just hope to know when you've hit that sweet spot where you have to let things play out, rather than pushing for a better result.

Right now, it's time to let things play out with Freestone.  We're in a groove.  Normally, he goes from ballroom to ballet on Mondays with my friend Jacy, but I picked him up today.  Instead of having him wait at the studio between classes, the two of us went to Dylan's for dinner.  I just wanted to listen to the sound of this kid.  The patter of Freestone's voice.  The dissonances, the harmonies, the jagged edges and the smooth-flowing melodies that would tell me how my son really is.

I listened.  He's good.  He played me a symphony of sixth grade silliness and preteen humor with an undercurrent of boyish wisdom that took me by surprise.  All the chatter of the last ten years has rendered Freestone quite articulate.  But what I was really listening for was his soul.

I heard it.  And it was beautiful.