Hanna brought a flute home from school the night before her music test.
When I see her carrying that thing out of the school into the parking lot, towards my mini-van, my knees buckle, my shoulders curl back and I know Hanna and I may not speak the entire ride home because the very presence of this instrument in my vehicle adds a stress in all of our lives, no family should ever have to endure.
Hanna disappeared into her room with the case and closed the door.
We typically have an open door policy in the house but I recognized this was a great opportunity to give her some space and for the rest of us to craft some noise cancelation headphones using various items from the winter hat bin and some paper clips.
While I didn’t hear anything resembling music, I did hear a whistling squeal and a lot of periodic, heavy breathing. She might have been practicing yoga or throwing the flute like a baton or a combination.
Hanna then came to me in the kitchen with a music book, placed it in front of me on the counter and said, “I don’t know how the tune goes.”
Okay, have you played this song before?
“Yes, we play it in class.”
Deep breath. No matter what I say, I know it’s going to be wrong and appear that I am preparing for confrontation.
“So, if you play it in class, can you remember the tune based what you’ve played?” (I said this in the sweetest way possible. This was not meant to sound condescending in any way but it might look that way in type)
“If I remembered the tune, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
Non-verbally, we agreed I walked right into that one.
“Why don’t you try to play the music on the page and then when you hear it, the tune will come to you.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing in my room.”
(I beg to differ)
She looked at me as though I was about to break out in song. As though I was about to save the day and start humming, “Oh, of course, it goes like this, A-A-B-B-B-B-tom-terry-tee-tee-ta…..”
And then it occurred to me. I’ve told my kids a lot of falsehoods over the years–That I had eyes in the back of my head, that I know who smeared toothpaste all over the faucet in the bathroom, that I make the best spaghetti sauce in the entire world.
At NO TIME have I ever told my kids I was a professional musician, specifically, flutist.
Or have I?
