Music

So the Mouse has signed up for music lessons at school. She’s waiting to find out if she gets her first choice (violin) or her second choice (flute).

As a result, I am processing my own history around music.

I am a classically trained flautist. (That would be flute player to everyone else.) I studied for almost 20 years, was first chair in every band I ever played in, except for one, because I didn’t want it bad enough, so was first chair, second flute instead. The guy below me didn’t want to challenge me for the seat. I competed. Made it to State once. My private instructor, Ginger Rumbach (who I now miss more than I can say), believed I had the chops to be a professional. She bemoaned my lack of motivation and my lack of consistent practice.

I couldn’t tell her why.

Every time I played at home, my mother would shred my playing. Would walk in and tell me every way I was doing it wrong. Never mind that the point of rehearsal is to rehearse. You aim for perfect. But only rehearsal gets you there. The road there? Can sound pretty awful. But the process is its own art.

I loved and love the flute, even though it was not my first choice. I wanted to play the cello. My mother forced me into playing the flute, because it was what *she* wanted to play. But under her constant brutal criticism, how I didn’t smile when I played in recital (you can’t, it fucks your embochure), how I should be her performing monkey for friends (my words, not hers)…

I started only playing when she was nowhere in the house.

It limited my practice time dramatically.

But in spite of her, I came to love the instrument. I still do.

And now I get to reclaim my instrument and my expertise not only for my Mouse, but for myself. I get to tell her that we will play, not practice. I get to tell her that yes, it is hard, but that is what makes it great. And above all, I got to say these words:

“You’re almost there! Keep going!”

Because if you are the parent of a burgeoning musician, I have news for you: that’s what they want to hear.

You are not their fucking critic. They will face plenty of those on their journey. You are there to note improvement. To support.

But above all, love.

Music is the language that binds us, just as surely as math. It does not require anything more than ears and a heart and a body to understand, because even the Deaf can feel its frequency. It can shift how we feel. It can literally heal our bodies. It is more powerful than mere sound, and it is the right of every single person who wants it. It is so important to me, I made it its own character in the trilogy.

Music, like love, can change the world.

Now I’m going to go learn a Scottish reel about a drunken soldier. Because I’m going to show my Mouse that playing the flute or violin isn’t just about playing old dead white men’s music. Sometimes it’s about silly silly soldiers stumbling home…

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.