11 December 2011

I Hate Sucking!! (Or Learning to Excel at Imperfection...)


My parents put me in violin lessons in second or third grade. Now today this would not be so outlandish but this was in the early 70's and back then the default parenting mantra was not "sign them up for everything," as it is today.

I was an enthusiastic and energetic (precocious) child. I think someone must have told my parents that they should try to find an outlet for all my genius yet unruly and sideways momentum.

So, the violin. It was terrible. I was terrible. I hated it. I think I had to learn some patriotic song. Can't remember which. And then play in front of people at some point. It was terrible. And I sucked. Needless to say, it didn't stick. I can't remember anything about playing the violin. Except that I really liked how you stuck out your little pinky finger down at the end of the bow. Made me feel unusually ladylike. And that I learned how to hold the violin between my chin and my shoulder. Look Mom, no hands!!

Then in fifth or sixth grade they put me in saxophone lessons. Alto sax. Guess why. That's right because we had free access to an alto sax. My Uncle Mike played it in marching band and was happy to let me borrow it. We are estranged now; I haven't spoken to him since fifth or sixth grade.

The saxophone. This was terrible as well. I hated it. It was just an opportunity to suck at a much louder and more squawk-y level. And it was frickin' heavy, that thing. Did I mention I walked to school ten miles each way? In the Yakima winters? Uphill both ways? It was terrible. I sucked at just lifting it up off the ground. I'm not a tall person now, imagine my height in elementary school. The perpetually cracked reed and I could look at each other square in the eye. A stare-down. The goose-call-like instrument won! I played one recital or concert or violation of the Geneva Convention or something and I believe that was the last time I touched that thing.

Then in high school when my sister started taking piano lessons, I stomped my foot and said that I wanted music lessons too. "Drums, please." "No," said my father. "Too loud." Shit. Okay then "Guitar, please." (The guys who taught guitar at the music store where my sister took piano were foxy (...the 70's, remember?).) Conveniently enough, we had an acoustic guitar in the extended family so this worked out well.

Until I went to my first lesson and the instructor told me I'd have to clip my fingernails. Now I don't care how cute this guy was, in the era before acrylics, long nails were a virtue, probably a sign of royalty. Long beautiful nails were not something you could purchase if you had 45 spare dollars and 45 spare minutes.
No thank you, handsome older man with curly blond hair, brown eyes and a mustache.

Then when my children began taking piano lessons, I thought, while they were gone to school each day, I'd sit down at our piano and teach myself to play with their Piano for Beginners work books. I'd sung alto in my high school choir; I knew how to read music. Every Good Boy Does Fine, right?

I plucked my way through a couple of basic songs but I was not willing to suck at Old McDonald long enough to get any better. I was terrible. Frustrated. And would not be teaching myself how to play piano.

I am now 49 1/4 years old. And it feels a little bit late to be learning my first musical instrument.

Then you know how things tend to happen exactly as they are supposed to happen...

While poaching my daughter's Facebook account recently (with her permission and in order to see some of her photography), I noticed a former boss of mine was wishing her father-in-law Happy 101th Birthday. And that he began professionally dancing at 75. And began writing at 93 years old. (I own one of his books, myself.) Suddenly I felt much younger.

So I decided that before my 50th, I'd learn an instrument. Drum set. I want drum lessons. (I KNOW!)

Now, when I looked back at how I pretty much hated all previous attempts at an instrument, I was a bit worried about my ability to commit to sucking long enough to get 'good' at it.

I kept talking about it but not doing anything. I looked online for drum teachers in the Gig Harbor area. Nothing was really clicking or lining itself up for me. (That's a real thing, you know.)

My son plays drums. He is actually quite gifted this way. Kind of a natural. But I really didn't think it was a good idea to have him teach me. Seemed like a recipe for a killing spree. Plus I thought he'd scoff. I hate scoffing when it's aimed in my direction. I was just sure he'd point and mock and never believe that I'd really follow through. I wasn't going to ask him. I wasn't. I wasn't. I was decided. Period.

Then one day when I went to his house to watch his two boys for a couple hours, the words "Colin, do you want to teach me drum set?" flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

To which he replied: "Yeah, sure. When do you want to start?"
"Thursday," I blurted out for no particular reason.
There was more discussion to follow but I really can't remember any of it as I was in some kind of coma for the rest of the day.

Well, that was easy. But then I remembered the drum set was stored in my ex-husband's garage. My ex-husband who lives alone in a four bedroom house. "Hmmmmm....you know what would be so cool," I thought to myself. "If we could set up the drum kit in one of the empty bedrooms and Colin could teach me out there once a week."

I knew my ex would mock and laugh, for sure. But I was used to this and didn't care too much, so I called and asked him if we could work something out. He didn't even scoff a little bit. "Sure," he said. "I'll clean out Ciara's old room." Later that week I got a text that said 'The room is ready. Brought the kit in from garage. Drums all set up."

I could not believe this. It was all happening so easy. No fussing. No resisting. Especially from two men in my life who have a lot of practice resisting me. Everything was lining up perfectly. (I told you it's a real thing.)

Now the only thing left to fall into place, or not, was me. Would I be able to stick with it? Would I be willing to suck long enough to get to the point were I could play (or completely butcher) 'Come Together' for my friends and family?

I took my first lesson and LOVED it. It is the first music lesson I've ever taken that I had a great time. I was atrocious but it was so fun. A blast. And my son, it turns out, is a great teacher. Even with his mom, which I think is saying a lot. I paid him in cash and Fig Newtons.

Check back with me in couple months so I can give you my progress report and any gigs I might have lined up.

Do you think Hell's Kitchen would ever have a Beatles' Tribute Night?




3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I love this blog.

brian said...

that was good...dont you just love sucking : )its so fun at the time OMG
smile
brian
i love your blog btw

Anonymous said...

Violin? Violin? Really? I mean REALLY? WOW. I began playing the violin at 4. It was a 3/4. Which I stayed with until recently and gave it to my ex-daughter in law who also played but had no instrument. I played classical for 20 years. Then stopped. I dunno why. I just did. Can I listen to a viloin solo without crying. No. When my niece in the east was granted full scholorship to Julliard in NYC, did I cry? Yes. When she played for me, did I rush her and kiss her with gusto? Yes. On my - the viloin. My first and only love with a musical instrument.