Diversity and inclusivity.
On June 23, 2024, I was schooled in it.
***
It was partly sunny, comfortable, and windy as hell. In Upstate New York, that still counts as nice.
We sat in a lesser-known creation of one of the greatest landscape architects of all time—Frederick Law Olmsted. Central Park in New York City is his best-known work, but Genesee Valley Park holds its own.
Where the Erie Canal crosses the Genesee River, the latter on its northward path toward Lake Ontario, Olmsted had laid down one of his classically egalitarian works, one where all walks of life could gather and appreciate the natural beauty of Rochester, New York, somewhere near its center.
We faced west, which meant that to our right was the majestic library of the university that promotes Olmsted’s vision.
That university regularly holds workshops on diversity and inclusivity. All staff are fully trained on the matter, evidenced by check marks in their employee portals. Annual costs for students are in the $90,000 range, more than US median household income, but financial aid packages are generous. Between the aid and the training courses, Olmsted’s legacy is considered secure.
I turned my attention to the proceedings at hand—the summer recital for the Rochester Academy of Music & Arts (RAMA).
A modest crowd was starting to gather under an outdoor pavilion.
As I waited for show time, I reread RAMA’s email in my head.
There is no dress code. Dress as fancy or as casual as you like to make yourself feel confident.
The recital is free for family, friends, and anyone else you would like to invite.
We will be providing hot dogs, veggie dogs, and snacks. Feel free to bring your own picnic items as well.
I looked around. There were strollers—and walkers. Collared shirts and Mickey Mouse ones. Exercise fanatics and free spirits. Melanin dosing was highly variable.
First up was a teenager singing a musical theater piece. Nice, though not exactly Broadway material.
Next came a toddler who plucked a couple strings on the guitar and smiled. So cute.
She was followed by a middle-aged woman with intellectual disability and impaired vision who belted out a quick tune.
A string of middle-school kids took their respective turns on the piano. Wow, “Ode to Joy” is really popular.
My daughter sang an Olivia Rodrigo cover.
My son sang an original work.
Then, after about an hour, we all stood and congratulated each other.
A few minutes later, as I wolfed down a veggie dog and its not-so-veggie equivalent, I took a moment to appreciate Olmsted’s design.
My eyes landed on the library again.
Man, do they have a lot to learn.
