Disclaimer: post written by a tin eared grandma.
At the end of last semester Uncle Tom and I went to Laura’s band performance. There are two bands in her elementary school, the Tuesday/Thursday and the Wednesday/Friday. Each has sixty five or so members. At the end of the performance the band teacher said we heard the group all playing the same note; next semester they will learn harmony.
Uncle Tom said that little girl plays a nice trumpet; with a little more direction she could be even better. Now, Uncle Tom knows how music is made. He played trumpet in his own high school band back in 1960-something and he never hesitated to send her back to replay the last ten minutes of her twenty minutes per evening of practice, or make a change in her breathing, or whatever one does to a trumpet.
For Christmas he gave her a music stand for practice. “She sits on her bed, looking down at that music, and that’s no way to play a trumpet!” So, every evening, after the dishes, we are treated to twenty minutes of trumpet notes floating down the stairs. I enjoy it, and often can name the tune. Sometimes Uncle Tom remarks on the music and goes up to make a correction.
Laura took some teasing at the supper table recently; apparently Emily and Hamilton, who also play musical instruments in the high school band, realized Laura has put in a lot of time on a single piece lately. Uncle Tom cut off their teasing; even if Laura didn’t play a good little trumpet, she’s his favorite great niece. “Tell them what you’re doing, Laura.”
“I’m trying out for first coronet.”
Some time was spent explaining to grandma that a trumpet can play the coronet part. Several little trumpet players were given the music and there will be a tryout soon. The piece is called Snap, Crackle, Bop.
Hamilton teased Laura, she was challenging the other players.
“No I’m not; I’ll just play it the best.”
I told Laura it was admirable to strive to do her very best.
“Yes, Gramma. I want to sit in first chair, too.”