Friday, September 19, 2014

Instrument of torture

So I'm not sure how it is in anyone else's school district, but in ours, fourth grade is that magical time when students learn to play the recorder.

Um, this thing:

And some boring history
for good measure.

When Abby was in fourth grade, her music teacher was practically fresh out of college, and that guy was so filled with hope still that somehow he made the recorder actually sound decent at the end-of-the-year concert. Having attended many such concerts before and since, I can attest that THAT is sort of rare. I'm 95-percent certain the recorder isn't supposed to sound good. Like, ever. At all.

I had kind of forgotten about the recorder, and fourth grade, and Abby practicing in her bedroom until Johanna announced over dinner one evening that she needed $4 to buy one.

Well, damn.

But then she was all, Abby put her old recorder in my closet but she told me I couldn't touch it, which, side note, is it kind of sad that she actually followed those directions, or is that just me? Because that seems like a dare.

Okay, maybe it IS just me.

Anyway, so Eric was like, is it still in your closet?, and Jo was all, I think so, and then they trotted off together and found the thing and yay! Less plastic in the landfill in like 50 years!

That's the highlight of this story.

The lowlight (downside?) is that Abby taught Johanna how to play both Three Blind Mice and Hot Cross Buns*, and Johanna has been PRACTICING in her room almost every single day. Um, except when she's practicing outside because we kick her to the deck. In a very loving way. The flowers grow better with music is all.


So the moral of this tale is that times are tough in the Walker household at the moment. I'm not a drinker, but I'm reconsidering.

The end.

*Fact: Those are actually both sung to the same tune. Ha!

Wait, not the end. I just remembered that I learned to play the recorder in fourth grade too, and I have a vague memory of bringing mine home and being so excited. And that excitement lasted until I took my very first breath and exhaled into that thing, because wow, squeaky and terrible. I was nine and I already knew me and the recorder were just not meant to be.

Now it's the end.

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