About eight years ago, Allison went through a "clarinet" phase the same way some people go through a grapefruit-diet or plaid-socks phase. In other words, it didn't last all that long. But it did last long enough for Mark and me to attend a band concert or two. And one, in particular, will stay with me like homemade noodles--stuck to my ribs forever.
She was in 4th grade, and it was the big roll out of the band, the first time parents could see what all those early morning practices and night-time battles were for. Based upon what I heard that evening, apparently they weren't for much, thank you. One trumpeter, in particular, stuck out. And I'm not talking about the bell of his horn, though he did have it hoisted nicely.
This kid played trumpet the way an allergy sufferer blows his nose in September--with great gusto and no apparent sense of public shame. At times, he actually sounded like some throw-back clown from a cheap circus, honking his big, red nose just to get a laugh.
It took awhile, but, eventually, the kid did get some laughs. I mean, even the most kind-hearted parents have their limits. That night, that limit proved to be about 6-1/2 minutes. Two songs in and people began sitting on the edge of their seats, anxiously anticipating the next spasmodic outburst from the boy's horn, an instrument that seemingly had a mind of its own. And he did not disappoint, eventually wearing us down until we all were battling a bad case of the giggles.
Such moments make a person realize that an elementary music teacher just may be the bravest person on earth.
Then again, we had one of those moments three years later at a Lincoln High orchestra concert, so maybe that medal of honor should extend to all music teachers.
This time, it was a female cellist I could not turn my eyes from. True, it meant that I barely watched Eric work the neck of his own cello, but I'm sure he would have understood. I mean, this girl was amazing in her ho-hum approach to Mozart. If her eyes fell upon the music even once, it was only because the music stand was in the way of her view, as she scanned the audience, looking for a friend she was texting with her free hand. That's right. She was a cellist with a free hand.
It was like watching a Carol Burnett skit, only Harvey Korman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, this was all Carol, doing everything she could but play actual notes (although her hands ran up and down that neck like a masseuse in training). And her bow work left me breathless, the way that bow got so darned close to the strings, without actually touching them. Even more amazing was that she managed to do it all while chewing an entire pack of Bubble Yum bubble gum.
I don't know what made me think about these magical concerts, so many years after the fact. Maybe it's because of the sudden focus on teachers, and the bravery some of them show in times of dire stress. Maybe I just wanted people to know that you don't need the threat of a gun to bring out the best in a teacher.
Sometimes, you just need an incredibly distracted musician who can't be bothered with all those notes on the page.
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