MAY 7, 2026 – For anyone who’s attended an actual concert, this evening’s occasion at our granddaughter’s school was more of a pep rally. In any case, concert or pep rally, the event was staged in the gymnasium of Central Park Elementary School. Covering the high wall behind the risers where the students would face the parents, grandparents and siblings was an image of the school mascot—a silver panther. All that appeared of the big cat at rest was its face, chin between its two oversized paws, as it peered benignly at those in attendance. The eyes looked sleepy and uninterested, which I found incongruous with the adage of Ralph Waldo Emerson painted on the wall off to our right: “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” Certainly not a school concert, I thought.
If the mascot didn’t show much enthusiasm, the performers did. Their pre-show antics reflected lots of positive energy. I didn’t see a single kid who seemed not to want to be there, and the students mingled well. Illiana, I noticed, was eager to greet her friends, even though barely two hours had passed since pick-up time at 3:15 and the students’ return for showtime at 5:30. Beth and I were delighted to see our granddaughter interact with other kids. It’s a side of her personality we rarely see, since invariably, when she’s with us, which is often, she’s alone. I smiled as I recalled my conversation with her the other day on the ride home from school.
“Anything exciting happen today?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“During class?”
“No, just being with friends.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m kind of a social butterfly.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Beth. Illiana is friendly but quite reserved. She dislikes calling attention to herself and prefers quiet pursuits—drawing on her own; building Legos sets; working with sidewalk chalk. At this evening’s event, we saw that yes, she does have friends and enjoys their company, and by gosh, if she perceives herself as a “social butterfly,” that’s just fine by her grandparents.
At 5:30, the teacher in command retrieved the microphone from its stand in front of us and welcomed the audience to the show, though the students weren’t yet entirely in place. I was impressed by the teacher’s punctuality, but on the heels of her welcome was an apology: the concert would be delayed five minutes to allow latecomers to extricate themselves from the traffic jam in the school parking lot. The private school immediate across the road from Central Park Elementary was hosting both a track meet and a baseball game, and when the private school lot filled up, people attending the meet and the game decided to park in the limited space next to “our” school.
The reasons for the “delay of [our] game” reminded me as a senior—and I’m not talking high school—that beyond the quietude to which I’ve grown accustomed at my age and transcending the cacophony of our mismanaged world, as well as the isolation created by social media, sizable groups of young people are still engaged in constructive interaction with one another. Therein lies hope for the future.
As represented, exactly five minutes later the teacher called the proceedings to order. Instantaneously, the 70 or so kids cut short their chatter and frolics and stood at attention. Illiana’s assigned place was exactly in the middle of the front row. The universal response to the teacher’s call was impressive. It made up for the fact that there was absolutely no dress code for the performance. Wearing an actual dress, Illiana was among the best attired of the motley group. But at the same time, collectively, the kids presented themselves as a healthy bunch, comfortable with themselves individually and collectively.
The school’s ethnic diversity is about the greatest one could expect to find in the Twin Cities. Caucasians are in the tiny minority, but that doesn’t mean the majority are monolithic or for that matter, that any single ethnic demographic has a dominant plurality. Throughout the school the visitor sees walls covered with pictures, posters, and slogans highlighting DEI, though “DEI” per se goes unmentioned. I couldn’t help but laugh at the extent to which the place has flown under the radar in this regard—and how it survived the onslaught of ICE. I hailed it all as courageous resistance to the culture warriors on the right who’ve been on the ascendancy elsewhere under Project 2025.
After the performance, parents and grandparents shuffled up and down the halls and in and out of classrooms to review student projects on display. Each grade had been assigned a theme, and the fourth-graders’ theme was the American Revolution. For her part, Illiana had made a poster featuring Benjamin Franklin and prepared a report on the man. When anyone pressed the designated “button” drawn on the poster, Illiana read her report.
We later visited briefly with Illiana’s teacher—an alumna of St. Olaf College and recipient of a Master’s degree in education from the U of MN, so no slouch she! I told her about the question that Illiana had recently put to me—if I’d been alive during the Revolution, would I have been a patriot, a loyalist or something in between. The teacher expressed delight to know that she’s “getting through” to her students. I’m likewise pleased and told her so.
Now, as to the “performance” . . . As I said at the outset, it was more of a pep rally than a “concert.” One aspect of the presentation involved various students lining up behind a couple of microphones and taking turns shouting a phrase or two or in some cases, actually singing—or trying to sing—a tune of some sort. The shouting, especially, was done with great gusto, but the words were all but unintelligible and not on account of volume. I was reminded of sitting in some grand old train terminal—Chicago, New York, Washington—where the station manager would announce arrivals and departures. The echo was so extreme that I, and surely no other soul in the great hall, had a clue as to what was coming or going.
The “group sing” was filled with enthusiasm of a level that Emerson would’ve applauded. Illiana, I know, has a very sweet voice, and she sang with confidence and a command of the lyrics. But in the midst of one piece, she gave us what can be best described as a “Norman Rockwell” moment. Her jaw was moving up and down with the words, as her eyes were glued on the director. She was the very picture of alertness until . . . suddenly, with no warning, an “A” or an “O” turned into a full blown yawn! Illiana recovered quickly, however, and rejoined the sound that the teacher was directing from the group.
The pep rally encore—performed on musical instruments (for Illiana, the violin)—is scheduled for next week. We’ll be there. The question is, will we be able to “name that tune”?
Subscribe to this blog and received notifications of new posts by email.
© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
