I participated in a local talent show last weekend. I sing a little.

As I sat in the audience prior to my part, I noticed four young girls come in. The older two are in high school. The others, younger siblings. It’s Adair County, Iowa. Young people often travel about in packs like that

I know them, but not well.

They first sat mid-way up on the left, then moved to the front row. They were casually well mannered and well behaved. They watched the show with intent and delight, seeming to enjoy each act on its own terms.

Included in the program was a young man. Again, I know him, but not well. I believe he is in his early high school years.

He took the stage in jeans and simple button-down shirt; shyly walked up to the microphone; grinned a little as he unfolded a sheet of notebook paper that held his lyrics; cued the sound man for music; and launched in to a dead on version of George Strait’s Christmas Cookies. (The show was a Christmas show.)

When he was finished, he accepted is applause, then quietly returned to his seat with a smile on his face.

During the ensuing intermission, several audience members made a point of seeking the young man out, congratulating him on his performance, talking to him about his music. His smile grew wider. His posture a little straighter and taller. He soaked in every bit of the show’s second half.

At the end of the second act, all of the performers took a collective bow, and as I left the stage, I spoke with him a bit. He’s a quite humble and unaffected young man, who swelled a little with my compliments while trying to change the subject to talk about me – with what appeared to be genuine interest. As I walked off, he was engaged with a guitar player, yapping about common musical interests.

I collected myself and said my goodbyes for the evening. As I exited the hall via the grand staircase, I encountered the young girls alone in the downstairs gallery. I could hear them excitedly viewing the watercolor exhibit. And I mean excitedly. “I like this one.” “WOW, look at this.” The younger girls were jumping up and down. The conversation wove around themes of color and form.

When they noticed my presence, they turned their attention my direction. Each one complimented me on my performance, then began talking about their own musical experiences. What it feels like to be part of the school choir, to be part of making music. How frustrating it is to be a second alto when you wish you could hit high notes. (I added how much I love the sound of a rich, full, lower voice.) How maybe next year, they’ll take part in the talent show.

Their eyes gleamed. Their voices rang with gleeful enthusiasm at chattering speed.

This, folks, is what music and art do for young people.

I’ve sat through a lot of school board meetings in my newsgathering years, and I’ve volunteered myself on occasion to help build community arts programs. And I must say, I’m lucky to live in a region where the arts are valued.

I’ve heard school board members ask music instructors what they can do to enhance and enrich their programs. “Tell us what you need.” I’ve seen community members many years past having kids in school make the effort to attend school programs. I’ve seen a community rally around and offer support to an institution designed to foster and promote the arts.

And I’ve listened in vain frustration as teacher friends from other parts of the country talk about cuts to school arts programs. In some cases they face a constant battle just to HAVE an art or music program.

There are those in education and in life who simply do not see the need. Art is extemporaneous, they say. Math and science and business are all that really matter.

Those things are important, yes. But so is a sense of beauty reaching deep and touching the soul.

If they could only see what I saw in those young people’s eyes, they would know that.