Side Streets, Kimbra Traynor Herb, 744 words
My Son, the Musician
By Kimbra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
Break out the Kleenex, folks and kiddies: tonight was the annual spring band
concert at my sons' school. I think I may have mentioned a few hundred times
that I tend to get a bit sappy when I see my offspring with instruments in hand;
making beautiful music. It's an artsy, crazy mom thing I do; and the kids expect
it and laugh as I load up my purse with Kleenex prior to a concert. But tonight,
I have to admit, my mind was not so much on the misty moments of shared musical
memories as it was on THE SQUEAKS.
Let me go back to the Christmas concert. This past Christmas, my sons' were in
the annual Christmas concert. My oldest son played the french horn in the junior
high concert band, and my middle son played the saxophone in the sixth grade
beginning band. Oh...... the sixth grade beginning band.......how to say this?
Well, honestly, they were quite bad, even for beginners. I can say that because
I have some knowledge of music and also because as a mother I probably thought
they were BETTER than most people in attendance who may not have given birth to
one of the players........ they were just really stinky. But
"stinky" can't really convey what was going on in the saxophone
section.
To say that
there were squeaks is such an understatement! It was a "squeakfest" a
"squeakconcert" and frankly, about 80% of that squeaking was coming
straight from the saxes. I would have LOVED to have blamed all the noise on the
clarinets, but noooooooooo......... it was the sax section making all the
ruckus.
And EVERYONE
noticed. Each time it happened (approximately every 2.5 seconds of playing time)
people would titter and look at each other meaningfully. Now, while all this was
going on, not EVERY parent had the pride and joy of knowing that there was a
fifty percent chance that it was THEIR son making the squeaks. No, just my
husband and myself and one other lucky couple had that distinction. Oh! I hadn't
mentioned that there are just TWO saxophones players (one being my son) in the
beginning band? Oh, silly me! It was a long, long night. After a bit I really
wanted to take the Kleenex out of my purse and stuff it straight into my ears to
muffle the squeaks. Following the concert my son eagerly
revealed that it was NOT HIM, no indeed, but his bestest buddy Brock who made
all the squawks during the concert. Brock, it seemed, was using a reed which was
so hard it was most likely made of petrified wood. I have to admit that I
swallowed this story eagerly. So tonight brought me to
the concert with my usual pursefull of Kleenex and a whopping case of anxiety. I
was very worried that during the beginning band concert (and by now they should
be not SO beginning anymore......) the squeaks, the looks, the giggles would
commence and I had it on good authority that Brock had some new reeds
so.............
And the concert
began. Truly, this was an improved group. At times, they were downright swell,
for new musicians and all. But the best part of the evening was....... no
squeaks. Not a one. Whew! I cannot express my relief. So profound was my
happiness at not having to hear all the high pitched noises emanating from the
sax section, that I chose to overlook it when the two saxophones seemed to be
playing an entirely different song than the rest of the band, so off were they
on their tempo. At least the two of them were together, and THEY WERE NOT
SQUEAKING!
By
the time the junior high band started playing, I really felt it was safe to let
myself slide into my melancholy moody teary mode and let a few fat salty ones
slip down my cheeks as I ruminated over the fact that my sons were becoming the
very musicians I had always dreamed they would be. Following the concert, my sons laughed as I stuffed my
barely used Kleenex into my purse as they congratulated me on holding it
together moderately well this concert. Sometimes I even amaze myself: I didn't
say a word about the lack of squeaks and told them that next time, they might
not be so lucky- better start stocking up on the tissues right now.