Over the last decade, at least once and often twice a week, I’ve been playing the piano for singalongs at three Manhattan senior citizen centers. At my weekly gig, there’s a steady crowd of about 30 singers who come in from all around the city (and one fellow even travels from Philadelphia). Some have fine voices and offer solos, a couple of them dance, and everyone joins in with enthusiasm. We’ve also made two compact disc recordings. The seniors give me timely feedback, convey affection, and let me know how important this outlet is in their weekly lives. But it’s not only working for them – it also provides me with a real sense of fulfillment.
At Christmastime, we also try to reach a different group of more aged and infirm individuals, who are pretty much confined to their own apartments in a building that houses one of the senior centers. Fifteen or so of us, dressed in crimson choir robes – and with me leading the group playing a portable instrument called a melodica – start at the top floor and go down the halls and stairs, singing carols and knocking on doors trying to bring a little cheer to the tenants' otherwise dreary lives. The doors open one by one, and you can see the gratitude in their expressions and reactions – somebody has remembered they exist.
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