We are not what I would consider a musical family - unless you count our extensive collection of 80’s music. I enjoy a broad range of genres - you’ll find everything from Gregorian chants to alternative Christian rock to Steve Miller Band on my iPod. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my love for ABBA and Switchfoot.
The iTunes library is ever-expanding as the oldest son keeps downloading songs by groups I’ve never heard of and honestly don’t care much for. Add that to the plethora of country songs that my boys magically memorize (much to my chagrin) and we seem to know a lot of songs.
But I’m not so sure we know music.
I took piano lessons for years and yet wouldn’t consider myself talented enough to even play for church. Both hubby and I sang in choir, but neither of us feel comfortable singing in the shower. And yet somehow, the music bug has bit the boys. Two of them can actually sing and stay in tune - the other two might have to rap or deejay.
The firstborn told us at a very young age that he wanted to be just like Michael W. Smith when he grows up. As he hit teenager-dom his tastes have changed to include much more percussion and electric guitars. He has been taking guitar lessons for a couple years, graduating from a very sweet and mellow acoustic to a not-so-sweet and not-so-quiet squealer of an electric guitar. I’m starting to think we may have made a mistake by not insulating the walls surrounding his bedroom. He is about to embark on the adventure of playing for the middle school youth group worship band and I’m pretty sure that this will not only increase the number of his jam sessions but also the volume.
Boy number two begged and begged to start piano lessons. I put him off for months, knowing full well how much we butt heads and how much reminding he would need to practice, thus increasing the head-butting. Three months later, he has progressed beautifully and I have a permanent lump on my forehead. His teacher oohs and ahhs about his ability to learn songs quickly while I silently seethe at how well he plays during his lesson and how quickly things disintegrate at home. He seems to be able to memorize a song instantly but cannot keep a steady rhythm on anything longer than a whole note. (I fear this is genetic because I find it incredibly difficult to sing and clap at the same time.) The rhythm issue only adds to the tension between us.
If he doesn’t play a piece perfectly, he will listen to his teacher say the exact same thing I told him all week and instead of pounding piano keys in frustration, he nods and plays it to her satisfaction. She claims she understands the battle I’m in, but I’m not sure I believe her, even if she is a pastor’s wife. I’m tempted to move the keyboard into his room and tell him he can’t leave until he’s done practicing, but that would be his idea of a perfect day - locked in a room by himself. And I’d probably still be able to hear keys banging since we didn’t insulate his room either.
All of this noise leads to aching ears and very little musical enjoyment.
And now the third one has been “hinting” that he would like to start violin. Oh, why not? A squeaky violin will only add to the shrieks of guitar strings and hammering of piano keys. I’ll bet anything number four will want to beat the drums.
I guess I should be grateful they enjoy music and remember that worship is still worship no matter what key it’s in or no matter how loud it is. Life unfortunately has taught me that worship can be sometimes be painful.
Maybe they’ll form a band someday and this season of suffering will turn into a season of rejoicing. In the meantime, Lord, please keep my iPod battery charged - it works even better than ear plugs.
