My niece was six the first time I took her to the opera. I’d prepared meticulously. I’d explained the story. I’d played some of the music in the car. I’d promised ice cream at interval. I was confident.

Twenty minutes into Act I, she turned to me with complete sincerity and whispered, “Aunty Margot, why is that lady shouting?”

Reader, I nearly lost it. But here’s the thing — by Act II, she was gripping my arm during the dramatic bits. By the curtain call, she was clapping so hard her palms were red. She talked about it for weeks.

Taking kids to the opera is one of the most rewarding things you can do as a parent or family member. It’s also logistically terrifying. Here’s everything I’ve learned from doing it multiple times, making every mistake, and surviving to tell the tale.

Choose the Right Production

This is the single most important decision. Get it right and you’re golden. Get it wrong and you’ve bought yourself three hours of restless agony for everyone involved.

Good first operas for kids:

• The Magic Flute (Mozart). Animals, a bird-catcher, a villain, magic bells, a Queen of the Night who is genuinely scary. It’s basically a fairy tale with incredible music. Most productions lean into the visual spectacle, which helps.

• The Barber of Seville (Rossini). Fast, funny, slapstick-friendly. Kids respond to the energy. The “Largo al factotum” is a showstopper even for small humans.

• Hansel and Gretel (Humperdinck). Literally a fairy tale. Often staged around Christmas. Short, tuneful, and features a witch getting shoved into an oven, which children find deeply satisfying.

• Any Opera Australia production specifically marketed as family-friendly. These are designed with younger audiences in mind — shorter run times, accessible staging, sometimes with pre-show activities.

Operas to avoid for a first outing:

• Anything by Wagner. I love Wagner. Your seven-year-old will not love sitting still for four hours.

• Wozzeck (Berg). Outstanding opera. Child-inappropriate content and atonal music. Save it for when they’re at university.

• Any opera where the main dramatic action involves a woman dying of tuberculosis for 90 minutes. (La Traviata, I love you, but you are not a children’s show.)

Prep Work That Actually Helps

Tell them the story. Not in musicological detail. In bedtime-story style. “So there’s this barber called Figaro, and he’s really funny, and he has to help a young man trick a grumpy old doctor so the young man can marry the woman he loves.” Kids love a plot. Give them one.

Play some of the music. Not the whole opera. Just two or three famous bits. In the car, during dinner, whenever. The goal is recognition. When they hear a melody they know during the performance, their face lights up. It’s wonderful.

Explain the format. “People will be singing instead of talking. There’ll be words on a screen above the stage so we can understand what they’re saying. There’s an orchestra in a pit below the stage — we might be able to see the tops of their heads. There will be an interval where we get a snack.”

Don’t overdo it. You’re preparing them, not training them. Keep it light. Keep it fun.

The Day Of: Practical Tips

Arrive early. Give them time to look around the theatre, find their seats, watch the orchestra warm up. The building itself is part of the experience. Let them absorb it.

Sit on an aisle. I cannot stress this enough. If you need to make a quick exit — bathroom, meltdown, sudden onset of boredom — an aisle seat is your lifeline. Book aisle seats. Do not compromise on this.

Bring quiet snacks. A small packet of something that doesn’t rustle. No chips. No anything in crinkly packaging. I once sat near a family whose child ate an entire bag of Twisties during the love duet in La Bohème. The crinkling was audible three rows away. Don’t be that family.

Binoculars. Cheap kids’ binoculars or even a small pair of opera glasses can transform the experience. Suddenly they can see the singers’ faces, the details of the costumes, the conductor’s expressions. It gives them something to actively do.

Set expectations about applause. “We clap after the songs, and we clap really loudly at the end.” Kids love clapping. Let them clap.

During the Performance

Don’t police their reactions. If they gasp, let them gasp. If they whisper a question, answer it quietly. If they giggle at something that isn’t funny, so what? They’re engaging. Engagement is the goal. Perfect stillness is not.

Watch their face, not just the stage. Some of my happiest moments as an opera-goer have been watching a child experience something extraordinary for the first time. The moment they realise a human voice can do that — you can actually see it land.

Be ready to leave. This is important. If your child is genuinely miserable, if they’re crying, if they’re disrupting the people around you, it’s okay to leave. There is no shame in it. The interval is a natural exit point, but even mid-act, if it’s not working, take them out. You can try again another time.

Most kids, if you’ve chosen the right production and done reasonable prep, will make it through. But not always. That’s fine.

At Interval

Ice cream. I promised ice cream and I deliver. Most Australian opera venues sell ice cream at interval, and it is the single greatest tool in your parenting arsenal on opera night.

Also: bathroom. Don’t ask if they need to go. Tell them they’re going.

Use the interval to ask what they thought of the first half. Not in a quizzy way — in a genuine, “what was your favourite bit?” way. You’ll get surprising answers. Kids notice things adults miss.

After the Show

Talk about it. Not right away — they’ll be tired and overstimulated — but the next day. Ask what they remember. What they liked. What confused them. Whether they’d go again.

Don’t be disappointed if they didn’t love it. Not every child takes to opera immediately. But you’ve planted a seed. You’ve shown them that this art form exists, that it’s for them, and that it’s okay to have a response to it — any response.

And if they did love it? Start planning the next one. Because there is nothing in the world quite like watching a child fall in love with opera. Trust me. I’ve watched my niece go from “why is that lady shouting?” to telling her school friends about the Queen of the Night’s revenge aria.

She’s now nine. She has opinions about sopranos. I’ve never been prouder.