As an artistic type, I believe it's important to fight to keep music in schools. I believed that whole-heartily until Mina took up trumpet this week. Dude. Trumpet. She sounds like she's part of the Spirited Bowl Jubilee. It's funny. For the first ten rounds of Hot Cross Buns. Then I wish I had hot cross bun earmuffs. "GOOD JOB, MINA!" "KEEP IT UP," I yell over the halted, air-filled blurts as I cry quietly to myself. Although, I'm revitalized when she tries a little Satchmo improv finger-work, all fast and screechy. Then I'm like, "Oh yea, Mina. Play it!"
I won't complain about the rental contract I had to scrawl in blood for the trumpet. I won't because I support music in schools! I most definitely support how it helps Mina's brain -- fires off some extra synapses -- even at the expense of our ears and pocketbook.
On many days, I pick up Mina from school on my bike. I put a pillow on the back rack, shove a helmet on her head and she squeezes me as her little straddled legs dangle. Old school! We ride home at a very leisurely pace. We talk about the day. The breeze and sun's position against the trees at that time do a number on us. Her tiny death grip around my waist and her voice vibrating off my back as we ride do a double number on me. Getting the trumpet home today took a new negotiation of space and balance. Mina rode no differently, but I held the trumpet's case handle with my left hand, a bit out to the side. It worked out fine, but it was more laborious than our regular dreamy after-school pick up. Drat you, Trumpet!
Mina decided to play out to the courtyard. This was funny. For another two rounds of Hot Cross Buns. Then I shut her down. Until tomorrow, Trumpet. But still, here's to the music that's still taught in schools! Even when it sounds like this: Bur bur bbbbrup. Bur BUR brr. Burp bur burrp. BBRR bur. Brup.