Music To My Ears April 2009

The big dead tree that’s been waiting to topple over in our back yard finally did it’s deed the night of those big 50-mile-an-hour winds, taking part of the fence and deck railing with it. What we saw when we woke up was the hot mess it made of the back yard, but that’s not what the kids saw. They saw adventure. All afternoon they climbed all over the massive trunk, balancing with arms outstretched as they walked, and grabbing the splintered sticks created from the crumbled branches as their props. It’s a performance I can’t take my eyes off of as I watch their stage from the back window, wondering what the details of the game might be but not daring to get too close for fear of ruining the moment.


I appreciate their chance for creativity. With the tight schedules kids these days keep, and the temptation of video games, TV and computers, these chances to make it up as you go along are not as frequent as they used to be. That’s why I was so excited a few weeks ago when John came home from school and announced that every fourth grader was getting a recorder. I thought immediately of his father, Craig, at the same age, given a tape recorder by his principal at school, on which he recorded his little 10-year-old voice calling the play by play action of his older brother playing basketball in their driveway, and in the process creating a priceless family treasure.

But that was not to be. These recorders aren’t for recording anything. They are intended, apparently, to be musical instruments. But during the early days of recorder practice they are actually instruments of torture. The sounds that come from these little flute like devices would shock you and, I’m fairly certain, if placed in the right hands, could be used to make a spy divulge international secrets to escape the sounds attacking their eardrums.

But through clenched teeth, I encouraged more practice, patience, and excitement at each milestone. Finally, the shrill squealing started to resemble notes, one followed by another and then the formation of Hot Cross Buns, a monumental triumph celebrated in our kitchen with cheers and applause! Now, I’m happy to report, I’m enjoying listening to very sweet little songs followed by a proud grin for each new creation.

It’s a small price to pay, I see now, for my son to have the opportunity to experience the accomplishment of creating music and the self esteem that comes with it. I guess the clean up of the tree, although a bigger pricetag, will also be worth the family memories it created as we remember the time the tree fell in the back yard and out of chaos came a day of creativity.