A PLAN GONE ASTRAY - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     With little time to prepare, I was on my way to higher learning.  Junior high!  Mom thought I needed some culture.  Without my approval, she enrolled me in the band.  Then a new trumpet magically appeared in my hands.  I could sense another experiment in the making.   

      I had conquered Dick and Jane and my multiplication tables.  Now I was expected to conquer music?

     I soon learned that first chair in the trumpet section was the lead trumpet.  This meant you were better than everyone else.  They don’t tell you that, but it’s true.  After first chair, was second chair, third chair, and on down to last chair.  Last chair means your Mom signed you up for the wrong class.  Not wanting to be last, I pulled my shiny, new trumpet out of its case and began practicing for first chair; second chair at worst.  “I may have signed you up for the wrong class,” said Mom.

     The time finally came for chair assignments.

     “Let me hear what you can play,” said my instructor.

     After listening, he recommended the electric chair, but said he would be open to lethal injection.  I’m not sure if he ever forgave my mother for her misled ambition.

     Despite his recommendation, I remained in the band.  Needing a place to live, as well as food and clothing, I didn’t want to upset Mom and get thrown out of assisted living. 

     It wasn’t long before I became an accomplished musician.  Learning the scale was a notable accomplishment.  Within a month, I had learned “do re mi.”  I surprised myself.  If I continued at this pace, I might have my own “do re mi” band.    

     But reality has a harsh way of exacting cruel vengeance.  I found myself in sixth chair.  It was particularly disheartening, considering there were only five chairs. 

     With little effort, I was able to convince everyone within ear range that music wasn’t in my future.  They were hoping that my music wasn’t in their future, either.  Now I needed to convince my mother.  It wasn't easy.  I lingered in the band until near death. 

     Finally, one spring I was given the opportunity to showcase my lack of musical skills.  Every year, our lead trumpet would play “Taps” for the Memorial Day ceremonies at our local cemetery.  One year he wasn’t available so they skipped everyone who was competent and asked me.  I had never played “Taps.”  My accomplished piece to date was the scale, but I felt it wouldn’t take me more than two weeks to learn “Taps”, so I agreed.  Memorial Day finally arrived.  After positioning myself in the bushes where I wouldn’t be seen, I began to play.  “Is that the scale?” I heard someone ask.  I caught myself and began playing “Taps.” 

     As soon as I had finished playing, I heard a shot.  I couldn't believe my instructor had hired a hit man.   Just as I was about to fall to the ground and crawl to safety, I realized it was a twenty-one gun salute, honoring those who had served their country.   I felt much better.

     I decided to skip band my senior year.  I was still recovering from Memorial Day.   My instructor did a marvelous job of concealing his disappointment. 

     I was hoping that Mom would agree with me.  Music wasn’t the plan for my future.  It was a nice idea, but it was a plan gone astray.

 

 

To be continued...check back soon