Dont’ get me wrong. I’m really, really excited that the boy has taken up an instrument and will be playing in the band.
I love that he picked an instrument that, for reasons the Cheerleader and I cannot explain, he’s talked about for years.
The boy is ten now, but when he was seven, he declared that he simply had to have a trumpet. Of course, he never learned to play that one and it really, really got beat up as it was dragged out around the play porch and only blown to wake somebody up who was sleeping on the couch.
But now, we’re ready for round two with the trumpet…which will be through the schools.
It did not start well.
The boy was so excited, after the Cheerleader brought home the new trumpet…the one we’ll rent for the next year…and showed it to him. This was the instrument he picked! His eyes lit up and a big smile expanded across his face. He took out the beautiful golden instrument and immediately put in the mouthpiece and blew…and blew…and blew…with no sound.
He put it back in the box. “I don’t want to play the trumpet any more.”
“I don’t want to…” he turned and walked back to the living room to watch cartoons…our big monthly bill still stuck in our hands.
“Son, that is no longer an option,” I said. “This is what you said you wanted. You WILL learn to play this instrument.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t I play the drums instead?”
Then, we both started in to talking to him. He “hadn’t even taken his first lesson yet.” He “can’t quit before he even starts.” We were “spending a lot of money.” Etc. Etc.
So…he went to band two days later and he says that they showed him how to play it better and he’s learning notes and he’s very excited….
But…there was a day, not to long afterward where I asked him to try to practice and again, he whined. He’d rather watch his cartoons…friggin’ Beast Wars…so I got his trumpet and went up to his room…opened his window…and called down to him. He came up, visibly grumpy when he saw me holding the trumpet.
“Watch this,” I said and took the trumpet and pointed it our the open window and blasted it as loud as I could. It echoed off the houses across the street. The boy smiled and took the trumpet from me…
Our poor neighbors.
On another occasion, he was supposed to be practicing the three notes he knows…so I set up his music stand, got out his beginners book and the trumpet and he started to practice…blowing every foul and labored note as loud as he could, right in my face and when I turned away, in my ear…but he practiced…Every note painfully showing on my face while the Cheerleader laughed at me.
So I’m really excited for him…and now that football is over, he’ll be practicing a lot more. Our poor neighbors.
And I’ll still be waking people up who sleep on our couch…
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