Don’t Worry Music Teachers — These 3 Dudes are Jamming all Summer Long. Or at least trying to.

It is summer, and the music keeps playing

It is summer now. I know this because I saw a squirrel spontaneously combust while I was watching my wife water the garden from the safety of our climate controlled sun room. As such, we have relaxed some of the rigorous academic standards we have for our kids. Until the semester starts in September (online), they no longer have to translate Latin works on Roman architecture. Or write weekly stand-up routines relying solely on poop jokes.

One area where we haven’t relaxed is music.

A musical education

The value of music is well-documented, even going back to ancient times. The boys closed the year on a strong note (see what I did there?), and we wanted to keep up the tempo.

I’ll stop now. Probably.

Oldest is tackling the violin, and recently graduated to a bigger violin. I had no idea that there were different species of violins. It makes sense that there would different sizes, I just hadn’t really thought about it. There’s no such thing as a Medium White shark, after all.

He’s quite good at it technically, but he shares his father’s talent for not being able to discern whether or not something is in tune. (I have the tin-est of tin ears. Someone could start a dump truck during a symphony and I’d think “that sounds about right. And perfectly on time!”)

Through no fault of his own, the instrument became so totally off key that even I could tell. I guess changes in heat, humidity, and — somehow — the presence of two cats can dramatically affect pitch. My wife, who has an excellent ear, was able to fix it, and all was well again.

Piano, part I

Youngest, recently turned 6, plays the piano. He is also very technically sound, and is motoring through his first book “Little Fingers Learn to Play an Unnecessarily Complex Musical Device”. He can read music, use both hands, and fart mid-measure. That’s not a joke. We even have research team from Johns Hopkins here to investigate why playing the piano makes this kid pass gas. A fringe benefit is that the kids are also learning about the Scientific Method.

“There goes another one. Raunchy little bugger, too.”

“What’s your hypothesis, Dr. McDuck?”

“The boy’s diet is almost entirely mac-n-cheese. Perhaps that is playing a role?”

Nonetheless, despite having a team of doctors — and three interns that appear to be relegated to “sniff test” duty — hovering around his rump, Youngest keeps confidently pushing forward.

Piano, part II

Now the real horror. Inspired by our kids’ musical success, I decided to try to learn piano.

The first thing I learned was that, of the 88 keys, only around 21 are useful. The inventor of this thing really up-sold how many different notes were needed. It is kind of like a car salesman saying “Look — I know you already have one spare tire, but wouldn’t six spare tires be better?”

Starting with Youngest’s book about complex machines was a poor idea. He was already 20 songs in, and I was still trying to figure out why the piano bench wasn’t padded. How about we save money by cutting those superfluous keys, and add some cushioning down there?

Sensing my frustration — especially when I tried to throw the piano out the window (those things are heavy; I failed) — my wife ordered a music book just for me. A book for first-time adult learners.

“So You Are 40 and Trying to Learn Piano — Don’t Worry. We’ll Take it Slow. There are White Keys and Black Keys. Relax. There’s a Reason Why”

It is a long title, but I appreciate it. I learned something just from the name of the book! Who knows what great volumes of knowledge exist behind the book cover. Hell, even the title page might explain what those three gold colored things that I keep banging my feet against are used for!

Stay strong, music teachers

I’d previously written a humorous ode to math teachers. This one is for the music teachers. Keep at it. Our kids love music, and hardly ever need to be reminded to practice because of your inspiration (even if it is via the internet). If you feel down, especially you piano teachers, take solace in this: at least a 40-year-old me is not your student.

“You want me to use finger number 3? I’ll show you how I can use finger number 3.”