Hamilton the Musical, or When You Need to Pull Your Car Over and Cry to a Broadway Tune

I am not what you might call trendy. (As every previous student, friend, and general acquaintance nods their head vigorously.) So I am a little late to the Hamilton frenzy, but boy am I glad this play exists. If this means nothing to you, I suggest this article from the now unfortunately-shuttered Books and Culture to get you up to speed.

Basically Hamilton represents a classic unexpected success story. A musical about an oft-neglected founding father with a mostly minority cast that covers the scope of Alexander Hamilton's fascinating life. I don't want to give background here. Read the article. I just love that it happened. There is much to bemoan about our culture; Hamilton is something eminently worth praising.

This post is nothing but budding fanboy praise. I have it on my phone and have been listening to it almost constantly. We have been listening as a family, too. My daughter now regularly requests it when she gets the chance. It has usurped Jack Johnson as her most requested artist. We dance together in the kitchen as we listen. 

We have been trying to teach our kids about music in a more systematic way. We are starting with Bach, listening to a ton of his music, reading a biography about him. I want my kids to understand the power that music can exert, and not just the easily accessible stuff. I want them to love the hard stuff, too. I want them to be moved as they finish Beethoven's Ninth, Dvorak's New World Symphony, Bach's Cello Suites, Vivaldi's Four Seasons. 

But I want them to love this stuff as well. I was listening to the soundtrack the other night while out running errands. It was dark and I was thinking about my kids and how much I love them, how blessed my life is by them. And then I heard this song that plays after Hamilton's son Phillip was killed in, ironically, a duel defending his father's honor. And it just got me. I had to pull off Arapahoe onto a side street and cry. I'm taking sobs. I can drive through misty eyes. I've done that plenty in my life. This was different. As I got myself under control and pulled back onto the main road and drove home I was so grateful for that chance to cry. I got home and hugged Owen tight and told him I loved him and how proud I am of how he is growing.

We talked in my class the other day about "knowing" truth through our emotions. Emotional knowledge is dangerous. Our emotions can just as easily mislead us as benefit us. But when you can trust your emotions, when they lead you to the Good, well, there is nothing else so capable of moving our souls. And music, perhaps more than any other art form, has the power to take us there.