The big decision

Seth made the decision yesterday to join the sixth grade band. It's been an issue that has plagued him most of the summer. "Mom," he whined on several occasions, "do I join the choir, band, or art?"

always gave him the "do what your heart leads you to do answer." This always disgusts him because it's not the answer that he wants to hear. Even though he wants to be considered an adult, there's still a little part of him that wants me to supply all the answers for him. As much as I would love to help him out, I can't; he needs to start finding the answers to his questions deep within himself.

He made the decision to join the band after our visit to my mother's house this weekend. I awoke early Saturday morning in anticipation of getting a little writing done. In my usual morning fog, I trudged into my mother's cheerful kitchen and turned the coffee pot on. I leaned against the counter and enjoyed the silence that embraced me. Home, I'm finally home, I thought happily. I'll have a cup of coffee and sit out on the patio and write. A noise from my old bedroom postponed my plans.

Careful not to spill a drop of my precious coffee, I walked down the hall to my room and peeped in. Seth stood looking at a display of medals that Mama had arranged in a frame and hung on the far bedroom wall.

"I know you're there Mom," he said, not bothering to turn around. "Did you really win all these medals in band? I mean, there's twelve of them here."

A feeling of pride washed over me as I smiled and nodded. All twelve had been won in either solo or jazz band competitions. In high school, I had sat 'first chair" clarinet all four years, and no lower then second chair tenor sax in jazz band. My band director taught me to play the oboe, and convinced me to compete with that has well.

Seth studied me intently. "What instruments did you play?" I was flattered that he was taking such an interest in my past.

"Hmm, let's see," I said, taking a sip of coffee and sitting on the edge of my old desk. "My main instrument was the clarinet for concert and marching band, and the tenor sax for jazz band. I played a couple of others though." Even though I had never competed with it, my band director had taught me how to play the alto sax. I took another sip of coffee and wondered over the sympathetic look that Seth was giving me.

"Gosh Mom, I'm so sorry," Seth said, shaking his head. "I guess you just weren't that good." Ack! I choked on a mouthful of coffee and almost fell off the desk.

"What do you mean I wasn't that good?" I spluttered. "Well, I mean if you had to try four different instruments. . ." I realized how that could be misunderstood. "No baby, I was good enough to play different instruments."

Seth turned pink from embarrassment. "Oh." Excitement once again radiated from his face as he turned back around to look at my medals. "Could I win a medal for band?" He asked hopefully.

"If you practice and try hard." "Then that's what I want to do, I want to be in band," he proclaimed happily.

Fast forward to yesterday. . .

Seth brought his alto saxophone home yesterday. Proudly he opened the case and showed me the horn inside. The horn reflected the light and gave off a welcoming glow. I never dreamed I would have the reaction I did. It had been fifteen years since I had held an instrument, and my hands ached to hold the gleaming instrument while my fingers caressed the keys.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Seth's lips as he gently lifted the horn and placed it in my lap. "Here, isn't that what you wanted, to play it?" I was dumbfounded. Was my reaction that obvious?

"I-It's been fifteen years since I've even held an instrument.” I stammered.

Seth smiled patiently. "I bet you can still play; go ahead, try."

My hands trembling slightly, I took the reed that he offered and stuck it in my mouth. "You uh. . .you have to get the reed wet before you play." I mumbled. I took the reed out of my mouth, stuck it on the mouthpiece, put the ligature on and tightened it. I said a quick prayer before I began to play. Dear Lord, please help me out here. I don't want my son to lose faith in me.

The sax felt familiar in my hands. I took a deep breath and began to play the only song that I was sure I remembered, "Mary had a Little Lamb." My eyes widen in surprise as I blew the first note; the sound was sweet and unfaltering. Tears rolled down my face as I realized that I could still play. I was reluctant to hand the instrument back after the song was over.

I had forgotten how much joy playing an instrument had brought me. Seth took the sax outside and began to try it himself. A few minutes later, I heard a chorus of "moos" the fence by the side of the house. I tried not to laugh at what I saw. A herd of cows were mooing at Seth as he blew on his sax. He looked at the sax in disgust. "I quit!" Seth yelled and tried to push past me.

I caught him by the arm and forced him to look at me. "No one sounds great when they start playing an instrument. My dad said it sounded like I was torturing a cat when I started playing." I said.

Seth eyed me skeptically. "Yeah, well. I'll never be as good as you." I pulled him close to me and hugged him tightly. "No. You'll be better ." I said.