There's something poignantly fitting about me getting back my old clarinet earlier this year, the one I played all through my elementary, junior high and high school years. After I graduated, I passed the horn on to my niece, who went on to be a much more gifted and talented musician than I could ever hope to be. She even outgrew the inexpensive model and upgraded to a more high quality version, taking it on an international music tour with her band group. I'd actually thought she'd traded in my horn, to knock down the price tag on her new one.
Then, I was given an extra-special birthday-Christmas combo gift -- my niece, sister and brother-in-law told me they were giving the clarinet back to me. They spent more money than the clarinet was even worth to have the corks and pads replaced, have it completely refurbished, and equipped with a music holder, assortment of cleaning materials, and several fine-quality reeds. I finally received the fully restored, shiny black-and-silver beauty a couple months ago.
So what, do you ask, is poignantly fitting about my reunion with my clarinet in 2008?
I just learned that my band director had a massive stroke and died on Tuesday. Some people might describe Mr. Ted Powers as a crank, or a curmudgeon, a crotchety old coot. I'm not sure he was the world's best band director. Some people had a love/hate relationship with him. He didn't put up with crap. He yelled a lot. You have to yell to be heard over a room of 150 teenagers rattling their drumsticks, blowing saliva out of their spit valves, squeaking, squawking, or otherwise molesting their instruments and abusing ear canals.
But I loved this man for all his cringe-worthy qualities as well as his endearing ones. When you coaxed a smile from his usually gruff jowls, the sun shone. When you earned his praise, you knew you truly earned it. When you presented him with a gift at your final band concert and you both shed tears, you knew your life had been touched forever by this man.
He gave me a gift. It was about more than learning to read music, finger an instrument, keep the beat, march on a football field or down a parade route. He gave me the confidence to play a solo at state and earn a top rating. He gave me the opportunity to spend time with classmates who became my closest friends. He nurtured a sense of community. In his class, I experienced the biggest, most passionate crush of my high school career -- Paul, the drummer, who carried his sticks in his back pocket and smelled of rich cigarette tobacco, Polo cologne and black leather.
...Perhaps, I digress...
I wonder how many of his other former students -- from his four decades of music education -- will learn of his passing with both sadness and joy, whether it's been 10 years or 40 since they sat below his podium and followed the fierce movements of his pudgy, gentle hands guiding and directing them.
So I say goodbye to Ted...who really, truly was a teddy bear at heart. And say hello, again, to the music he coaxed from me years ago. I plan to join the community band here this summer. It won't be quite the same.
But nothing ever is.
Then, I was given an extra-special birthday-Christmas combo gift -- my niece, sister and brother-in-law told me they were giving the clarinet back to me. They spent more money than the clarinet was even worth to have the corks and pads replaced, have it completely refurbished, and equipped with a music holder, assortment of cleaning materials, and several fine-quality reeds. I finally received the fully restored, shiny black-and-silver beauty a couple months ago.
So what, do you ask, is poignantly fitting about my reunion with my clarinet in 2008?
I just learned that my band director had a massive stroke and died on Tuesday. Some people might describe Mr. Ted Powers as a crank, or a curmudgeon, a crotchety old coot. I'm not sure he was the world's best band director. Some people had a love/hate relationship with him. He didn't put up with crap. He yelled a lot. You have to yell to be heard over a room of 150 teenagers rattling their drumsticks, blowing saliva out of their spit valves, squeaking, squawking, or otherwise molesting their instruments and abusing ear canals.
But I loved this man for all his cringe-worthy qualities as well as his endearing ones. When you coaxed a smile from his usually gruff jowls, the sun shone. When you earned his praise, you knew you truly earned it. When you presented him with a gift at your final band concert and you both shed tears, you knew your life had been touched forever by this man.
He gave me a gift. It was about more than learning to read music, finger an instrument, keep the beat, march on a football field or down a parade route. He gave me the confidence to play a solo at state and earn a top rating. He gave me the opportunity to spend time with classmates who became my closest friends. He nurtured a sense of community. In his class, I experienced the biggest, most passionate crush of my high school career -- Paul, the drummer, who carried his sticks in his back pocket and smelled of rich cigarette tobacco, Polo cologne and black leather.
...Perhaps, I digress...
I wonder how many of his other former students -- from his four decades of music education -- will learn of his passing with both sadness and joy, whether it's been 10 years or 40 since they sat below his podium and followed the fierce movements of his pudgy, gentle hands guiding and directing them.
So I say goodbye to Ted...who really, truly was a teddy bear at heart. And say hello, again, to the music he coaxed from me years ago. I plan to join the community band here this summer. It won't be quite the same.
But nothing ever is.
Comments
How did the clarinet turn out by the way? Does it look all shiny and new? You should post a picture.