Friday, September 5, 2008

Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge

By Heather

As I write this, I’m sitting in the living room of my daughter’s music teacher while she has her weekly trumpet lesson.

Listening to her play brings back memories of my own band days. I played flute and piccolo through junior high and high school, and I was fairly good, though don’t ask me how. I’m totally tone deaf.

A couple months ago during an attic cleanout, I pulled out my flute (yes, I still have it). Old medals from high school competitions were still pinned to the faded velvet inside the case, tattered stickers stuck to the case. The flute itself was a bit tarnished, but still worked just fine.

What didn’t work so well was my memory. I could barely remember how to play a simple scale. My every good boy sounded very, very bad. Rather like when I first started playing in sixth grade.

My lessons weren’t as wonderful as my daughter’s. She has a great teacher, where I had a creepy guy with acrid coffee breath. I hated those lessons! But I did love band—and the other band geeks in it with me. Friends that have lasted through the years.

Every member of my family has played an instrument at one point or another. Now, only my daughter actively plays. She absolutely loves music, and I can’t see her quitting anytime soon. Her every good boy is very, very good. And the friends she’s making will surely be lifelong.

Did you play an instrument as a kid? Do you still play? Or are you completely wondering what the boys and fudge have to do with music?

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