Although I had enjoyed playing the piano, when I found out that a band was being launched at school, I wanted so much to be a part of it. It was obvious to me that the piano wasn’t going to do the trick for this undertaking. I mean, who ever heard of a piano being in a regular band?
True, jazz bands, rock and roll bands, and the like often have a piano player. Look at Jerry Lee Lewis for instance. However, conventional bands only rarely have a piano player. There just isn’t an easy way to carry a piano while marching. Furthermore, with the school teaching children ranging from five years old to twelve years old, the piano was definitely out of place. With that said however, there was a piano in the music room, but it was only used for the days when there was a music class or a presentation in the auditorium.I had never played that one and knew I never would.
The band teacher, a man who had to spread himself out between four schools, came into my class the day after the announcement. After his short speech about the program, he asking if anyone wanted to be in the band. I, of course, immediately raised my hand. When I was asked what instrument I wanted to play, I told him I wanted to play the flute.
That’s when he told me that I would need permission from one of my parents to stay after school two afternoons each week and would need to rent or buy a flute. It was the latter that made me hesitate slightly. My family was far from rich. The piano I had been playing for two years was a secondhand one. I had visions of how the conversation would go when I would approach them about another instrument. It wouldn’t be lasting too long and the verdict would be “no”, plain and simple.
Despite my reluctance to face my parents and get the rejection, I took the information and permission slip home to them.
The walk home was almost exactly three blocks. It was a time to unwind from the day and, one of my favorite pastimes, daydream. However, the walk home that day seemed more like a gallop and, instead of the daydreams, I was having the equivalent of night terrors only in daylight hours with my eyes wide open.
No, I wasn’t afraid of my parents or what they may possibly do to me. I just didn’t want to hear the word, no, and I didn’t want anyone upset, especially myself. At the age of ten years old, the consequences for what one does, starts to enter into the big picture of life.
This is the end of part one of Music Fascination Exonerated. I will be continuing this story in the near future.
- He Played His Best (ikrish.wordpress.com)