I had a bit of trouble with patience as a child. I know this shocks you. And my Grandpa, who may have been the most patient man I have ever met, used to say, just relax it will work out. And it does. February is a hard month for me and it always amazes me when I make it to the end. 9 years ago I was frantically interviewing and looking for full time work, 8 years ago I was trying to plan a wedding in a place I had never been. 6 years ago was trying to convince my offspring that flunking 7th grade might not be the best idea for either of us. 4 years ago I said goodbye to my mom. 2 years ago I was nervously waiting to see if I scored high enough on the GRE and would be admitted to the MLS program.
Back the end of 6th grade, my son said, I want to join Band and play Baritone. In our world, you had to join Band before 6th grade. (Band is a capitalized word in this district) I said, ok talk to the teacher; see what you need to do to make this happen. This was a period in our lives when follow thru was not a strong suit; I had no worries that this was the end of this. Two days later he returned, he talked to her, he needed to take lessons over the summer with Mr. Z (phone number given to me), she would give him a baritone for use over the summer, he would test first week of 7th grade and if ok would be in. I had to sit down. Holy Cats, he was serious about this.
Home practice was painful. No, it was horrific. It sounded like someone was dying a horrible death via farts. I have no music ability, but I was pretty sure it was only the same 4 notes over and over for 9,000 hours solid.
He has talent. Basic god given talent. More than I have in my little finger. I have always knows this. I had a kindergarten music teacher tell me he had perfect pitch (I may have said, oh how nice. MOTY). He has the uncanny ability to hear something and repeat it musically. Talk music theory with him and you might as well be talking about how to work the washing machine, but music is in his core. I honestly believe he could not survive without it.
He was a drum major this last marching band season. And my biggest fear (while being of course peacock proud) was that he would miss his baritone. I was assured that of course not. But that season is over and he took it upon himself to get his home baritone cleaned and ready.
When he got it home, he played it to test it. And then played more. Thirty minutes more. And it was wonderful. I was sad when the recital from behind his closed room door ended. He has gotten really good at playing the baritone. My Grandpa was probably right, I need to be a bit better about this whole patience thing.