When Tuesday rolled around Mom decided she would go along with Daddy and me to meet my flute teacher. His name is Bob Blackstone. I can guess why, kind of. Probably she wanted to look him over, or something. To check if he’s okay and all that, to leave me with him. If I ever have kids, I’m going to teach them common practical sense and then I’ll trust them to be intelligent enough to take care of themselves. Some mothers are just too much!
Well, when we got to the university school of music we could hardly find a place to park, and that put Dad in a bad mood, and then when he was turning around in the parking lot he had to kind of squeeze in, and he backed into something and the car scrunched and he swore and then they say I’m not supposed to, hah!
Mom said Mr. Blackstone was supposed to meet us in the front lobby. It’s kind of a big building on the university campus with a not-much-of-anything lobby, and we sat there in chairs for a few minutes. We were a little early, and then this guy came down some stairs and he and Mom looked at each other, just like African explorers. “Miss Feldman, I presume? “ And: “Mr. Blackstone?”
Then we got introduced all around and wouldn’t you know it, Mom had to say, “and this is our little girl”. I felt like turning around, like to see the little girl, and say, “where?” So he took us upstairs to the third floor by the staircase (we could’ve taken the elevator!) and then we went down long corridors and there were doors all over the place leading to practise rooms and lounges and there were people practising instruments in a lot of them.
All the way down the hall we could heard pianos, violins, flutes, trumpets, it was really weird. We went to the room we were supposed to use and Dad spoke to the guy for a little while, and they arranged a weekly lesson for me, and how much it would cost. And then Dad and Mom decided to go for a walk, and said they’d be back in a while.
Bob - he said to call him that - was really nice. He showed me his flute and we talked about different kinds. He said mine was really a good one. Then he asked me to play something for him. I had brought some of my music sheets along. He said I wasn’t bad, but he corrected my embrasure and some of my fingering, and it’s just like I’ve got to start all over again because I’m so used to blowing a certain way. It’s going to be very frustrating.
He checked the flute and showed me how a piece of paper just came easily out from under the keys, and he said some of my pads need to be replaced and the flute needs a tune-up. That’s nice; Dad’ll be so pleased.
Bob was really nice though, and I knew I’d like taking lessons from him. He ran me through scales and showed me how to watch myself in a big mirror on the wall, and we played, sometimes together, and it seemed like the hour was over in no time.
Someone was playing a flute in the practise room next to us, and I wondered who it was, they sounded really great. When I asked Bob if he knew who it was, he said one of his teachers, Jean-Luc Sauve! Imagine, right in the next room to where I was having a lesson!
When Dad and Mom came back we talked some more, and Bob told them about getting my flute a tune-up, and where a good place was to take it to. Just like I knew, Dad looked really happy about it all. But I’m so glad that I’m finally getting lessons, and I’m going to study really hard and play a lot, and be just as sure of myself as Sweetums Larry.
On the way home Dad asked did I enjoy myself, and stuff.
“Did he teach you anything much?” Dad asked.
“Well, he told me I’ve been doing almost everything wrong. So I guess you could say he’s been unteaching me.”
“That’s a new twist. I’m paying someone to unteach you. What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“Are you going to fall in love with him, too?”
“Daaaad! How can you be so stupid! Mom, tell him to stop picking on me!”
Mom laughed. “Never mind, Dear, just ignore your father. He’s jealous every time he thinks you look at another male. He’s afraid of being supplanted in your affections.”
“Anyway”, Dad said (and he laughed) “I’ve got more hair than him. Did you notice? He’s about twenty years younger than me, probably more, and he’s already going bald on top.”
“Crap! Dad, what’s that got to do with anything? Do you expect me to learn from him, or flirt with him?”
“Hah! She’s got you there, old man”, Mom laughed, and reached over to mess up Dad’s hair. I’m glad she did. Dad hates it when his hair is messed up.
“Did you ask him what it’ll cost to fix up the flute?” Dad asked, and I got kind of ready to hear him get mad.
“Oh, he doesn’t think it needs too much work done. About forty dollars?” I knew it was a lot of money, but they want me to learn how to play too, not just me.
“My god!” Dad practically yelled. “It’s going to cost us a fortune to have you tootle ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star!”
So I got mad and said, take it out of my allowance.
“Are you kidding? If we did that you wouldn’t get any allowance for two years.”
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