Tuesday, January 5, 2010
4:46 AM
The Great Trombone Saga of 1975
Olds Trombone
After school let out at the end of my 7th grade year, my band director told me that I would need to get a trombone of my own because he wasn't sure that he was going to be able to keep the one he had loaned me. I don't remember the details. Most likely, it actually belonged to the high school, rather than the jr. high, and the high school had enough incoming trombone players that the high school director was going to need it. At any rate, I was out of a horn. I really didn't want to go through the process of begging my parents for another horn but I really wanted to be in Honor Band, as it was the very best band in the school. I had worked hard to earn a spot there as a trombone player after having played that instrument for less than a year so being invited to join that group was indeed an honor to me. I didnt' want to miss the opportunity so I did what I had to do. I started on my parents as soon as school let out. I went for broke, too. I didn't ask for another used horn. I asked them to PLEASE talk to Reena's parents who could vouch for the fact that the cost of renting Cathey's brand new clarinet had indeed remained an affordable $10 per month until it was paid for in full. They wouldn't agree to ask her parents but they did at least believe me when I told them about their experience. They knew it must be true if I was willing to risk letting them talk to another parent about the cost so that seemed to interest them at least a little bit. But that still didn't convince them to agree to buying me a new horn. The best I could get from my dad at first was "maybe". Considering how tight-fisted my dad was at that time, a "maybe" really was not that bad. But getting from "maybe" to "yes" proved to be an almost insurmountable task.
Somewhere mid-June, in a moment of sheer surrender to my relentless prodding, I got my dad to agree to rent me a new horn. Great, right? Actually, not so much. Because although he tentatively agreed to rent me the horn, he would not budge at ALL on giving me some sort of ballpark idea as to when I might expect to actually get the horn in my hands. So I LITERALLY called him at work EVERY SINGLE DAY for the rest of the summer. I am not exaggerating one bit. I called every day. Every day, I'd make the call and as soon as he said "hello?", I'd say, "Hi, Daddy. It's me. I was wondering if I could go and rent my new trombone today?". He'd snicker and say, "No, probably not today.". Trying not to hack him off, I'd remain calm most days, and instead of complaining, I would gently remind him of the fact that school would be starting very soon and that I would have to have the horn on the first day in order to be allowed to stay enrolled in Honor Band. He'd say something like, "I understand. Don't worry. We'll get it.". At that point, we'd exchange "I love you's", say goodbye and go on with our lives with the clear but unspoken understanding that we would be repeating the dance the following day. lol I was nothing if not persistent when it came to things I really wanted. lol
I don't want to drag this saga out any further so I'll just spare you and skip to the chase. I DID get my brand new trombone. Hell officially froze over and my parents signed on the dotted line, FINALLY acquiring my much-anticipated new trombone. But my parents never did anything the easy way. No sir. They got me the horn and I was very, very grateful for that. I really was. The minute I opened that beautiful, brand new case and saw my shiney new trombone, my summer of constant begging and worry became totally worth all that I had put into it. lol But I want you to know that my dad waited until the absolute last possible moment. I thought SURELY I would get the horn by the Friday before school was scheduled to start on Monday, but I didn't. So then, I thought there could be now WAY I would not get it on Saturday because that was the last shopping day before school started. But see, my dad was a special breed of parent. Getting my horn a couple of days before school started would have made sense but that also would have been oh, so ordinary and my dad just never got along very well with ordinary. So instead, my parents sent me off to my first day of 8th grade, empty-handed, with only the tentative promise that they'd "try" to get my horn before 4th hour which was when I had Honor Band.
I was a nervous wreck!!!! Talk about pressure! I watched the clock and prayed over and over, all through 1st hour that the intercom would come on and the voice behind it would beckon me to the office to pick up my trombone. But the call never came. 2nd hour, my repetitive prayers continued but the call eluded me once again. 3rd hour rolled around and by that time, I was absolutely about to lose it. Torture. That's what it was. Cruel and unusual torture. Oy, VEH!
When the bell finally rang signifying the end of 3rd hour, my heart sunk. I had run out of time and apparently, the horn wasn't coming. I imagined that because of my parent's poor credit, the music store had refused to allow them to rent the horn. I was beside myself. Not only was I heartborken about the fact that I was not going to get a horn or get to be in Honor Band, but I was also suddenly mortified by the prospect of having to go and explain to my director and my classmates the reason why I had come to class without an instrument. On the verge of emotional breakdown, I headed out of my 3rd hour classroom and toward the band room. In one last ditch, pathetic act of hope, I made the decision to pass by the principal's office just to make sure that there hadn't been a mistake. Low and behold, there was a brand new Olds Trombone case setting there on the counter. I could see it through the big, glass windows before I even walked through the door. I knew that just HAD to be my new horn!! Thankfully, it was!!! As it turned out, my mom had delivered it an hour or so earlier but there had been some miscommunication. I thought they were going to call me down to pick up the horn and they were under the impression that I knew it would be there and would be coming by on my own to get it. Oh. my. gosh. You can file that under "How To Drive A 13-Year Old Girl Clinically Insane In Under 3 Hours". The moment my eyes beheld that trombone, I had been about 2.3 seconds away from sponatenous combustion. It would have been ugly and humiliating. Thankfully, God, through my sweet Mama, came through at the last moment, and crisis was averted.
My own children continue to benefit from that experience, however. When our oldest daughter needed her first band instrument, I immediately went about the business of finding the best price and bought her a brand new flute. (the horn she WANTED, not the horn she was talked into settling for) When little sister, Tay Tay announced that she would like to take violin lessons, her dad and I did our research as quickly as possible, and surprised her on Christmas with her very own brand new violin. That same Christmas, Jordy asked for a guitar. She got it. No questions, hesitations, or negotiations. They got their instruments. After all of the hoops I was forced to jump through in order to get mine, I was determined that if at all possible, my kids would find the process far less stressful. In fact, we've pretty much applied that determined mindset to all child-related purchasing decisions. If we don't have the money, we don't have the money and there is nothing we can do about that (though we still try). But if we have the money, and they need something, they get it. I don't harbor any real hard feelings toward my dad for always making things difficult when I was a kid but at the same time, I do remember how unnecessarily hard it made my already complicated young life so rather than letting my experiences embitter me, I just use them to remind me how important it is that I remember that kids have a right to ask their parents to buy them things that they need, and within reason, they have a right to ask their parents to buy them things that they just want. If we are not in a good place financially, that is not their fault and they cannot cease to need things just because their needs are inconvenient for us at any given time. We've worked very, very hard to teach our daughters the value of a dollar and we've also worked hard to teach them that tangible things are not what life is all about. They know very well what it's like to want that which they cannot have because we are not wealthy. Sadly, they also know what it's like to need some things that cannot always be bought immediately according to need. Sometimes they have had to wait awhile for things, not because their dad or I were dragging our feet, but just because for varying reasons, the family budget did not allow a timelier response to their request. But because they have always been able to trust us to do our very best by them, and because we've always been honest with them about that which we could and could not afford, they have never once gotten upset with us for telling them "no". They have also never been the kind of children who beg for things they know we cannot afford. God has given us two very special children and we love them with everything we are. We're so proud of them. And if having to spend an entire childhood summer working to keep the negotiations for my trombone moving forward is the price I paid in order to learn how to be a rational, compassionate, reasonable negotiator with my own precious children, then I have no complaints. I consider it time well spent and hard, but valuable parenting lesson learned.
If you're up there reading this, Dad, I want you to know that I didn't write any of this to disparage you. The things you did or didn't buy me do not define my love for you. I would have loved you even if you never spend a dime on me. Things are things and people are people. And I'm an adult now. I've known my share of hard times and I've also had the benefit of a parenting education that life did not afford you. I know you did the best you knew to do in those early years while struggling to battle some devastingly difficult demons. You weren't a perfect dad. So what? I'm not a perfect anything. Perfection is unattainable. We all just wear our knees out petitioning God for help and do the best we can. When all is said and done, I know I was loved by you and my children know that they are likewise loved by their dad and me. That's really all that matters.
When parents make it their policy to always say "no" to their children, then their children mistrust and resent them and they learn to beg. My dad used to get upset with me for begging him for things but in reality, it was he who taught me to do that. Because his natural inclination was to say "no" to everything initially, in hopes that he could get out of having to get it for me by wearing me down and causing me to give up, I learned very early on to never, ever accept the word "no" as his final answer unless he threatened me within an inch of my life. He taught me that it was always going to be a dance of negotiation. He was always going to say "no" and then wait to see just how badly I really wanted whatever it was that I had asked for. By the same token, my dad always told us that he didn't have the money for things even when he did, just because he was a tightwad and he hated spending his money on anyone but himself. (That was the old him, not the newer him who came back home in the late 80's to be the husband, father, and grandparent he should have been all along. The newer version of my dad was much, MUCH more generous when he needed to be.) So rather than being understanding when he told me he couldn't afford something I wanted, I was forced to either try and call his bluff, or give up on ever getting anything. And contrary to popular opinion amongst selfish parents, it isn't wrong for a child to want things from time to time. There's a big difference between spoiled, out of control greed and just being a normal, average kid who wants some new toys, shoes, or a freaking instrument to play in band once in awhile. Back when he was a young father, my dad treated Bernie and me as though we were horrible kids when we asked him for even the smallest thing. That's just messed up. We weren't horrible at all. We were just kids. We weren't old enough to work, so our only source of income was our parents. That's the way this whole circle of life gig goes. It was our job to negotiate with our parents for the things we wanted and it was their job to be firm, but also fair and reasonable in those negotiations. My dad did eventually come to understand that for the most part but sadly, Bernie and I were already grown by that time.