Postcard from Italy: Becoming a part of the opera
It was a night at the opera for the Michigan football team, but it became the night the tenor sang to me.
First, a confession: I like opera. A lot. I purchased a front-row seat off to the side, feet from the string quartet in the most fabulous St. Paul’s Within the Walls.
The tenor, who was very engaging before the performance teaching the team about opera, at several points launched into lyrical bursts. During one, he moved around, sitting next to some players, then moving in my direction and stopped to sing to some players. I was shooting video.
Suddenly, he was heading my way. Suddenly, he was … singing to me. Like, in my face really singing to me. Pretty sure I felt my cheeks turning red, knowing that everyone was watching. But I was enchanted and did not stop gazing into his eyes or smiling as I was swept into the moment of being in an opera.
During the intermission, Jim Harbaugh remarked he thought he saw me wiping away a tear. Yeah, maybe I did.
Opera can do that.