Many of you know of Bethany’s love of music. She sings, dances and has very strong opinions about her bedtime listening selections. She sings her favorite Sesame Street songs frequently. She even runs around the house singing into the doop-dee-doo whenever I finish a roll of paper towels. But she especially delights in Dustin’s guitar playing and calls it “Daddy music.” You’re probably expecting that Bethany’s reaction to hearing me play trombone would be a positive one.

It wasn’t.

I finally dusted off my horn last week in anticipation of joining the Bellevue Community Band. Now, granted, it had been a while since I played anything that required good tone, accurate intonation or any endurance whatsoever. Nearly two years, in fact. My last gig was playing in the pit for a Bedford Community Players production of Annie while 6 months pregnant. As I fought to breathe around the baby who was using my diaphragm as a trampoline during that show, I daydreamed that the little person I carried would someday share my enjoyment of playing the trombone (or at least a brass instrument).

Wrong.

Instead of requesting more “Mommy music,” Bethany’s eyes opened wide in terror. Her little face scrunched up to show that tears were imminent. “No, no,” she whined. “All done, Mommy.” I offered for her to touch the shiny metal horn. When that didn’t work, I backpedaled to the mouthpiece. Surely the funny little sound it made would placate her. But no. She protested until I finally took the horn downstairs to finish playing. By the end of a very short practice session, I was left with prickly, swollen chops and a sorely bruised ego.

After hearing the story, Dustin had a good chuckle. Then he helped. He sang the ABC song and pretended to think it was the greatest thing ever when I played along. After a couple of times, Bethany approved. “Again!”

But it didn’t stop there.

The next day, I offered her the mouthpiece again. After after trying to put it in her mouth a few times, Bethany made an elephant sound on the mouthpiece! Later, we put the mouthpiece on the horn, and she sat on my lap. We took turns playing sounds on the trombone. (“Mommy bom-bone. Beffie bom-bone. Ephant sound. Again.”)

 

As it turns out, Bethany is a natural. To my relief, she enjoys my favorite instrument. And she hasn’t spontaneously sung “Tomorrow” even once.

 

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