My son was able to start instrumental music lessons last year and join a school band. He picked the saxophone, and seems to enjoy the experience most of the times.
I was excited to be there last year when parents were invited to visit the school’s band room to learn more about the school’s instrumental program. As I entered the room, all the chairs were set up for band practice. A rush of nostalgia washed over me as I saw the music stands in front of the chairs. It had been so long since I played flute in school’s band. Like my son, I started playing an instrument when I was in fourth grade. Twelve girls sat nervously at their flute for sale the first day of lessons. The music teacher wanted to show us how to embouchure. The music teacher told us to pretend we were kissing our boyfriends. There was laughter in the air. In fifth grade, six of us had been left and in sixth grade we only had four. I became the only flute player in my grade, eventually.
A mother of five children, my mother has never missed a concert by a band. Band was where I spent time with Julie and Karen. They were one grade behind me but sat right beside me in band. They were also flute players. All of us were in the marching bands together. The marching band took us all to every high school football game. The bus would have us singing along to the team’s song, or any other song. A snare drum kept the time. It was great fun to have a cheerleader at the games. She would often direct us with our instruments when we were cheering.
The marching band was taken seriously by our band director. No jewelry or rings while wearing uniforms, and no gloves in cold conditions. Every night, we practiced after school for up to two hours. We were not allowed to read music while we marched, but we were required to memorize all the lyrics. We were good at practicing elaborate formations for the half-time shows. I enjoyed playing piccolo in the band for a few years. The director was a strict man. Julie, Karen, and I enjoyed small acts of defiance. We were not his favorite, but we loved each other.
Although I played flute for many years, I wasn’t a great player. I didn’t practice very often. From fourth grade through the end of school, my parents rented me my flute. My flute was then taken away and given back to school. I haven’t played it since.
My son is practicing his saxophone and I wish I could be there with him. Julie, a friend and band director at a school told us that fingering on a saxophone is similar to playing a flute. My son tried his saxophone once, and it was quite different from mine. I am prone to skimming classified ads looking for flutes. I wouldn’t even consider buying a new flute because I doubt I would be able to play it enough. When I did have one, I seldom practiced.
Tonight, I went with my son to his lesson on saxophone. The flute was displayed by his instructor in his studio for the very first time. It was so beautiful that I stared at it across the room. My son then asked me to play it. Its clear, lyrical tone brought back memories of my youth. It is only a matter time before a flute meets me, and it will not be easy to let go.
