We Wear Kaleidoscopes

“Mommy… Why Did All Those people have to die?”

— #WWKS Quote

OR Anywhere You Go, Let Me Go Too

Written by Adam James Zahren

Inspired by Andrew Lloyd Webber and music at large

“Even if you can not hear my voice, I’ll be right beside you, Dear.

Light up, light up as if you have a choice.

Louder, louder.. I can hardly speak; I understand why you can’t raise your voice to sing.”

— “Run” Josh Groban and Sarah Mclachlan

I ran a karaoke event sponsored by Lake Erie Ink, a creative writing space for young people with an interest in writing and other creative arts, in Cleveland last summer. Kids from around the neighborhood were encouraged to come to the literary lot, which was playground straight out of a scifi book (but because of the rumors of apathy and violence, the artist rarely left his giant robot on the property for fear that it would be incinerated, so the kids never really got the promise of the premise when it came to the lot, which turns out to be a recurring theme in the majority of their narrative paradigms) where they could grab the microphone, tell a joke, or sing a song; kids would rap, groups of students would perform choreography, some kids would try their skill set at stand up comedy. In these instances, I witnessed young people, many of whom I worked with for two years, like butterflies, become empowered by using their voices while the adults around them in the fenced in area stood shocked as these “kids” of the neighborhood used their mouths and bodies to express their beautiful, burning hearts– they’d flutter, and my heart would swell. 

At one of the events, there were two brothers who proved total hams. They must have been seven and five. For the entire evening they were present, and for the duration of that hot summer night, they controlled the music, the microphone, and the stage. It’s an upcoming emcee’s dream; it’s a social justice eurika. We played Marshmello and jumped up and down on the freshly built wooden stage. One brother told jokes and had the audience in stitches. (There were five adults fully present, and they were family– no matter) The younger brother built up his confidence using the microphone and speaking publicly as he shared stories from his experience. At one point, the younger brother plummeted in energy, and he curled up onto his mom’s chest as she held him. 

The music bumped. The bass blared– antithesis. He told me he wanted to hear the song from the Titanic. I thought to myself, kid, it’s not that kind of party, and also thought it was a passing fancy; what kid wants to hear a slow love song at a block party? There’s only one song with words in that tragic movie… But after he asked more than twice (*sung* I can’t say no!) I played “My Heart Will Go On” by Celeine Dion. The energy in the lot slowed down; the atmosphere came back to orbit; suddenly we were all rocking in freezing water without any life jacket– frying under the blazing sun. 

As the music began and the first few notes boomed from my borrowed bluetooth speaker, this young boy’s energy perked up, and he reached his little hand out for the big microphone. I can’t deny kids speaking opportunities. He held onto the technology as his mom’s body swayed with the instruments. We heard, “Every night in my dreams,I see you– I feel you,” and people had their hands on their chests with their fingers tapping. “Mommy,” he said quietly with his voice still booming, “Why did all those people have to die,” and his mom, obviously taken back on a multitude of levels, sort of laughed and held him tighter.

There was a pause until she said, “They didn’t have enough lifeboats, honey,” “But why,” he immediately retorted a little louder with a whine into the amplification device. “Oh, honey I don’t know,” she sort of sniffed and caught her composure, and you could hear her sinuses echo across the block, “It wasn’t fair to all those poor people,” as she ran her fingers through her son’s short, blonde hair– “It wasn’t fair,” he said a few times as he rocked and swayed to the music like a self actualized cuckoo clock, “It wasn’t fair,” and all the while Celeine kept singing, and everyone in the lot moved from side to side with the slight breeze in synch with the music on our hot summer day. “Near, far, wherever you are…” His grandmother put her hands up to the sun and closed her eyes; her legs became of the sea, and she floated to another place.  

Young people perceive so much of the world we deliberately turn away from, and they know the answers to problems we haven’t even batted a lash at. Working intensely with kids for the last four years, I am perpetually surprised at their insight, empathy, honesty, and perceptions. We, as adults or roll models, desperately need to listen. We need to hear the words ricocheting off the walls of our world, because the situation is dire; don’t you know and see that everything is on fire physically and epistemically? 

I facilitated this magic in Cleveland– in Slavic Village specifically. This is the very same neighborhood a former student was murdered in a hit and run, friends, family, and members of the community gathered together by the looming, tattered telephone pole where he took his last breaths– alone– and Ms. Leonard was brave enough to sing in front of there crowd off crying people; his name is David, and he just graduated 8th grade. 

No one would have set fire to that robot; no one would have touched it– it would have been a modern marvel. Kids deserve to engage in surreal, phantasmagorical experiences where they gain the space to grow, discover,and transform into a new version of themselves. Kids need a chrysalis. Kids deserve their wings. 

“No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide eyed fears.”

“Turn my head with talk of summertime.”

“Love me; that’s all I ask of you.”

— “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera

[Cue “You’ll Be In My Heart” by Phil Collins; percussion and other instruments flare and refute fade; it persists]