I Could’ve Been A Saxophone Goddess
I think God played a cruel joke on me by giving me such an intense passion for music, and yet not blessing me with the least bit of musical talent. But to my credit, it’s not for a lack of effort. In fact, I put forth a great effort to showcase the very best of my vocal skills on a daily basis. I love giving concerts in the privacy of my shower, and in the comfortable confines of my car. I spontaneously break into song in my home, and almost every time my son joins right in. We’re a virtual Jackson 5, only we’re missing a few members. Occasionally I gain a fan or two in the summer time, when the spirit moves me and my window is down. I don’t want to brag but I have gotten praise from a fellow traveler or two in the way of a “sang it girl,” while waiting for the traffic light to change. 🙂
When I was in middle school, specifically the 7th grade if memory serves, I decided I wanted to learn to play the saxophone. So one day I approached my mother, chest puffed out, shoulders back, head held high, and proudly proclaimed my desire. Her response? “I can’t afford to buy you a saxophone, but I can take you to grandma’s house, she has an old clarinet up in the attic that you can use.” Huh?
I found out that she was referring to the “family” clarinet. Any time anyone in the family decided that they wanted to learn to play an instrument (as my sister had before me), they were directed to grandma’s attic to retrieve said instrument. The problem was I didn’t want to learn how to play the clarinet, I wanted to learn how to play the saxophone. How in the world could I be cool and sexy playing the clarinet (as if a seventh grader has any clue what it means to be sexy)????? And, I’d made such a dramatic declaration about my desire, how could I possibly back pedal when my mother was offering such a simple, alternative solution? Clarinet, saxophone, in her mind it was the same difference, however in my mind they were like night and day.
I quickly grew bored with my lessons several weeks in, wanting to learn more than just the scales, and not really understanding that you had to learn the basics before you could play actual songs. And I still held a great deal of animosity about the fact that it was not a saxophone. Finally, while practicing at home one day and not hitting correct note to the first, I decided that I sucked at this playing an instrument thing. Not wanting to admit defeat, I devised a plan to get me out of said lessons.
I would get up in the morning and get ready for school, packing everything I needed except that family clarinet. I would conveniently “forget” it so I wouldn’t have to go to my lessons. And damn it if my mom wouldn’t get up out of bed and bring it up to the school for me. In fact, she always drove up around the same time, a time at which I had a class in the front of the school, so I would always see her pull up, get out of the car, grab the case from the front seat and bring it on into the building. On a side note, I feel pretty badly about that now, as my mom worked second shift, and taking the time to bring that clarinet to the school was interrupting her sleep. If you’re reading this, sorry mom. 🙂
I just want to say I have no resentment towards my mother for thwarting my efforts to become the next Candy Dulfer (check out the video, the girl is bad!). And I don’t remember how I finally got out of those lessons, but I imagine that me, my mom, my teacher, and a few of the neighbors collectively agreed that I sucked. So now a days I have to settle for privately sharing my God-given instrument, my stunning voice (said with tongue firmly in cheek), with the occasional passenger who can withstand the sound, and the fellow driver who happens to overhear my efforts while waiting for the traffic light to change to green. Sang it girl? Don’t mind if I do.
Still trying to figure out how I can remember the lyrics to thousands of songs, and yet struggle to remember what I had for dinner last night,
Angela