Tonight, my daughter sang in a holiday concert with a children’s choir. As those children sang “O Holy Night” I tried not to cry. There’s something about children singing and particularly about children singing Christmas hymns that just evokes all that emotion.
The concert also featured a Jewish men’s chorus and a celebration of Kwanzaa and an assortment of choirs and instruments.
One of my favorite details, though, was watching the man playing what looked like a string bass even though he was missing half of his ring finger.
I thought about both of my grandfathers. Each of them were missing a finger–an index finger for each of them, I believe. My maternal grandfather cut his own finger off with a saw, I think. I can’t remember how my paternal grandfather lost his finger.
I always found it kind of weird that both my grandfathers were missing a finger.
Anyway, I admired watching that man play that instrument despite that missing digit.
And if I weren’t so utterly exhausted, I might have some clever way to wrap up this post.
But I don’t.