Renegades, the next generation…

…it all started about a week ago now. I meant to blog about the occurance sooner, but life being what it is I find myself much further along the timestream as I finally put pen to paper, as it were.

I was busy one evening, doing what mommies across the country do; folding laundry, picking up the house, attempting to bring order to an otherwise chaotic existance. The children were in the livingroom, shooed out of ‘their’ end of the house as I picked up and tidied the mess they had so carefully wrought. There was the usual happy chatter as M and his little sister attempted to follow mommy’s directions about finding a board game to play.

Then I heard it… the strangled cry of a horn in distress, thin and strained as air escapes from places where it shouldn’t escape…

I rushed through the house, shouting to the baby, “what have you done? What are you doing?” Thinking the entire time that my youngest (a very precocious little two and a half year old) had once again nabbed my french horn. She’s ennamored of it really, always trying to blow out a note or two. But these… these notes were louder than normal, there was more substance to them…

It was M, my middle child. He’s shown, since he was a tiny tot, a preference for drums. The only drum corps he’ll really sit still for is BD, and when he sees them, he goes straight for the sticks. But there he was, every single slide pulled completely out of the horn as far as they’d go, trying as hard as he could to play. I was about to scold him for picking up mommy’s horn (a no-no) when he hefted the horn higher and flashed a brilliant sunny smile at me.

“I’m practicing mommy… I have to practice and get good if I’m going to be a Renegade.”

okay, my heart swells up and my throat closes off and I almost cry NOW thinking about that moment, think about how powerful it was THEN.

I took a deep breath and calmed my ruffled feathers. Though our sweet Frenchies are kind of a rare thing (try finding parts for ‘em sometimes. yoiks… rare beasties indeed) it’s still just a horn and there was my son showing more interest in it than I’d ever seen him show in anything musical ever before.

“Okay… come here…”

I took the horn back and showed M where all the slides belonged and explained why it’s important that they are where they are in relation to tuning. Then I gave him the horn back and let him have a go. For about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, no more than that, he blew as hard as he could. I don’t think he got out more than a low C or a G, he never was able to press the keys down (the horn’s pretty big and heavy for such a little squirt)…but he played and played till he was pooped. I sort of thought it might be a one time thing, yet M’s still creeping into the living room on a regular basis to try and pick up the horn so he can practice a bit more.

:) …makes a momma proud.

the photos were taken later, at bedtime. The little ones have taken to asking for ‘big shirts’ (translation: Mommy shirts) at bedtime in lieu of PJ’s…their favorites of my shirts being my Renegades shirts… as you can see…


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