I started playing piano when I was five. When I got to grade seven (approx 12-13 yrs old), it was a no brainer that I would choose to study band over art. So, my parents paid the band fees (art had no associated/additional fees), and I showed up the first day to be given a piece of paper with three lines. On it, I was to write my first three choices for instruments. I wrote:
1) Alto saxophone
2) Tenor saxophone (only if the alto is really not possible)
3) Baritone saxophone (only if the alto AND tenor are unavailable)
and I handed it in. Well, our band teacher had a crappy method of assigning instruments and rather than giving an avid musician the instrument of choice, she opted to give the "cool" instrument to the "cool/sporty" kids that were in the grade seven band class. sigh. Apparently my fourth option was the flute. So, grade seven, I tried to learn to play the flute. When grade eight rolled around, the question on the first day of classes was a little different. "Does anyone want to change instruments to try and learn a new one?" Oooooo... pick me! Pick me! Nope. Shockingly, she didn't pick me. And so, by the time my turn came around, once again - all the saxophones were taken. Yup, so in a stage rebellion, I chose the oboe. Finally, in the ninth grade, the final year at the school, two things changed.
1) I had been asked to try out for the senior basketball team and thus, finally became a sporty/cool person myself
2) the rest of the truly cool/sporty people realized that our teacher knew very little and dropped out of band for the alternative... art.
It also helped that the first band class day of grade nine, I marched into the bandroom and said, "Look. My uncle is going to lend me his saxophone because clearly this school does not have enough. Just let me play it already!"... turns out, I was the ONLY alto saxophone player in the band. True story!
Well, the Christmas of grade nine came around and it was the last present to be opened. It was a small box and my mind was boggled... I had already gotten more than I needed... when I opened it up, it was a mouthpiece for an alto sax. Me, being dense, smiled and got all excited because it meant that I could take "my" mouthpiece to school and not have to use the chewed up ones that the school provided. My parents were dumbfounded. Finally, my dad walked around the corner with a familiar sized case... and lo and behold, inside - was an original Conn (one of the finest makes from the "good ol' days)... and it was mine. I loved it - played every day - literally. And when the year end concert came for our grade nine band, my band teacher stood up and introduced the closing song by saying, "I have waited years to be able to play this piece, but I never had a saxophone player capable of playing it. Now I do." It was a sax solo in which the band did nothing but support/chord behind me. My Conn made it sound like gold.
Shockingly, a similar story occurred at the end of grade 12, whereby we were on a band tour in the maritime provinces and playing in a huge festival. My band teacher stood up and said, "I introduce you to our soloist,.... "
I took my baby to church tonight to practice for the Easter Triduum music. (You learn that when you graduate, there are very few places one can play a band instrument...and so, although I am not a part of the church community by any means, I get to hang out and goof off with my Conn). I got all the way home from the church, went to grab her out of the car, and realized that she wasn't there. I panicked. Raced back into town, looking on the roads in case she fell out (of a closed window?! Don't know what I was thinking... or if I was thinking...). Nothing. The church is no doubt, locked up. Calling one of the guitar players, whilst completely out of breath, she tells me that she has a key and if I can swing by and pick it up, I can use it. Race over to her house, get the key, take the shortcut back through the graveyard, almost hit an elderly, retired priest on an evening stroll in the dark, unlock the doors, trip on the stairs, and finally... see the outline of the case - right where I left it.
You might think that the moral of the story is that one should never leave their beloved more than an arms reach away or in safe keeping, but in fact, the moral of the story is that one ought to be more like Saxophone Sue (the lady with the church key), who gives of herself (or belongings) to save another's evening entirely. Dear Saxophone Sue... tonight I give thanks for you and your heart of willing... open to sharing what you have, to enable another.
No comments:
Post a Comment