The world lost my high school choir director, Phil Raddin, yesterday. He was an extraordinary man who leaves a huge legacy - hundreds of students who truly, truly love music, and came to love it because of him.
Every year, the Friday before Prom, Mr. Raddin would stop practice early and address the 100-ish students in the room. He’d hand out his business card to each and every one of us, and tell us that if we’d been doing something stupid and didn’t want to call our parents, he would be only a phone call away and would come and get us at any hour. That’s the kind of man he was.
This song was my favorite I ever performed with him, recorded in the National Cathedral my senior year.
Rest in peace, Mr. Raddin. And thank you so much.
As a child, my father sang Celtic folk songs to me constantly. Songs about shellfish-hawking women dying of cholera and soldiers dying alone far from home were probably a little heavy for a girl under 5, but I loved them. I still can’t listen to Irish or Scottish folk music without hearing it in my father’s voice.
This was one of the first I ever learned. Thanks, Dad. Good luck, Scotland.
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
- The Velveteen Rabbit (or How Toys Become Real) by Margery Williams, 1922
(Source: calantheandthenightingale, via suzywire)