The Impact of My Rebel Father

I have the most loyal best friend in the world. It was love at first touch and we’ve never been parted since. We’ve both grown and changed since we met over eleven years ago, but our relationship is one of the most constant things in my life. I’m talking, of course, about my oboe. We met and bonded due to a few predetermined circumstances.

In fourth grade, you make the decision of which instrument you’d like to play while you continue through school. I already knew how to play piano and read music. I’d been doing that since I could walk. I had decided I wanted to play either the flute or the clarinet, but my father had other ideas. He was a rebel, the nonconformist of our family. He told me everyone would pick the flute or clarinet. I should be different and pick the oboe. According to him, it would be better in the future, to be able to play an instrument not many others played. According to me, I’d never heard of an oboe! The rebel in me was interested, but like any fourth-grade girl, all I wanted was the fit in and be accepted.

The sheet that came in the mail had four spaces for the instruments I wanted to try out. It set the date and time for meeting with the band teacher as well. Both my parents arranged their schedules so they could be there with me. My father was still adament about this oboe thing. To appease him, I listed it as my fourth optional choice. Clarinet was my top pick. I like the tone and how clarinetist got to sit on the end of the row. Flute was my second choice, because it was pretty and high-pitched. My third choice was French horn. My mother accompained a French horn player once and I loved the pieces they played. I listed oboe begrudingly on the bottom.

I was very excited the day of the instrumental meeting. The room had all sorts of different instruments carefully placed around the room. The band teacher looked over my list and was surprised to see oboe listed there. I assured her it was only to make my father happy. My parents sat at the table, and I sat at the music stand. The teacher picked up a clarinet and lined up my fingers with the correct keys. She described how my lips should look and feel and told me to blow. I did, but not a single sound came out. I sadly handed the beautiful clarinet back to her with a shake of my head. She turned and handed me the shiny silver flute. Again, she lined up my fingers and showed me how my lips should be around the small hole. This time when I blew, a faint whistle filled the room. A huge grin filled my face until my father said I should try them all before making a choice. The teacher took the flute from my hands and placed a shiny brass French horn in my hands. Like the clarinet, no sound came out of the pretty horn. Finally, to my father’s delight, the teacher pulled out the oboe. It had a tiny funny looking reed on top and the keys were close together. Unlike the clarinet, there were no holes in the keys. Begrudgingly, I placed my hands how she showed me and shaped my lips just so. When I finally blew into the oboe, music actually came out! Within moments I had played Mary Had a Little Lamb and Hot Cross Buns without music or instruction. To my father’s delight, it was very obvious I was meant to play the oboe.

Since that fateful day in the music room, the oboe has become like a wooden extension of my arm and a musical extension of my soul. It has been there for me through the good times and the bad. I wouldn’t want to change what happened in that room eleven years ago. That short hour determined my junior high and high school path. The small effect of my father being a rebel caused me to play oboe, and find the best friend I’ve ever had.
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We’ve learned nothing and my body still aches.
And you take cause they give.
Though I love you and my body it leaks like a sieve.

When it got old outside, smoke beneath the playground lights.
If you’re coming home, just let me know.
Sucking on your breath mint, dissected and stuck with pins.
A film in her eyes from the glow.

Concrete and water, she’s looking for her daughter
At midnight in torrential downpour.
And everything I said about how messed your head is,
Was cut up and left in bits and pieces on the cutting room floor.

As we learn as we age
We’ve learned nothing and my body still aches.
And you take cause they give.
Though I love you and my body it leaks like a sieve.

As we learn as we age
We’ve learned nothing and my body still aches.
And you take cause they give.
Though I love you and my body it leaks like a sieve.

Take the picture from the wall when you think that nothing matters.
Take the picture from the plane and it’s a long ways to the floor.
Cut your finger on the edge cause it’s sharper than they told you.
Take a leap from out the window cause it’s way too far to go through the door.

As we learn as we age
We’ve learned nothing and my body still aches.
And you take cause they give.
Though I love you and my body it leaks like a sieve.

Jaws Theme Swimming ~ Brand New