Mr. B. had this vague idea that he wanted to play the drums. So, it seems, do half the fifth graders in Austin. So the middle school music teachers came up with a dandy way to cut the crush of applicants. They require two completed years of piano lessons. Right. Before you can play a snare drum.
I had to drag him to the sixth grade tryouts last Saturday. He was only mildly interested until he got in the middle school cafeteria and saw all the shiny instruments. After he was disappointed about the drums he moved on the trombone, baby tuba, trumpet, saxophone, clarinet, flute, violin, viola, cello and standup bass.
The instructors decided he had done best on the trombone and the clarinet. The band director was selling clarinets that day and immediately pooh-poohed the trombone. Assured him it only got to play the melody fifty percent of the time. Whereas the clarinet? Ta-Da. Ninety percent. Hmm.
He was still a bit indifferent when we left, but he admitted he’d had fun. I’ve tried not to push him into anything, though I have encouraged his basketball playing and scouts because I know he likes them. But this time I believe I will push for the clarinet. He may never become a Benny Goodman, an Artie Shaw, or an Anat Cohen, but I’m sure he’ll have fun. Especially playing the melody ninety percent of the time.
A cool rural find. The sort of thing you run across now and then. This one is in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, pretty far south from Mr. B.’s godfather’s Reveille Vineyards which is closer to New Market. Here spanning the Maury River in Rockbridge Baths.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 