The Plastic Flute

In case you didn't know, I've been writing a couple of books this past year.

One book was something I've had in the can for a long time, sort of like Harper Lee, except I'm no Harper Lee. It also doesn't touch on significant existential themes unless you count jokes about moms jumping up and down when a nine year old hits a home run as meaningful.

The second book is a little more personal; it is about my life in the 70's at Wheeler High School.  I expect Ryan Gosling to play me in the movie.

At the time I went to Wheeler, it was THE school in Cobb County. Wheeler was in East Cobb, and cousin, East Cobb was a-booming back then.

It was interesting writing about my life back then because unlike most people, I just went to school and came home.  I wasn't in any clubs. My grades were not good. I was too small for sports. I've always wondered why I was like that.

Then one day it hit me.

In sixth grade it was announced that we would be having "band" practice. This is when the high school and junior high school band teachers went to the elementary schools and tried to teach the kids how to play a recorder, which is a black plastic flute.

Like everyone else, I received my flute and went to "band" class.

Okay, I will admit one thing. I was eleven years old. I really did not grasp the significance of playing a plastic flute.

I will admit something else. I probably did band class so I could get out of my other classes. I'm pretty sure my friends were a part of it too.

First class. The band teacher gave this home work: Practice on your recorder.

A week goes by before the second class. I practiced on my recorder for maybe two minutes, total. That's being generous.

Second class. The band teacher catches me talking to another student during class. I stopped talking. The class ends and the band teacher gives the same home work as before. Again, I might have picked up the flute to look at it.

Third class. The band teacher is going over the scale. The band teacher points at me as I am mouthing the notes and says I'm just "following the class" and "doesn't really know it". Okay. You got me, Sherlock.

 The class ends. The band teacher wants to see me after class.

The band teacher has me sit down. The band teacher sighs.  The band teacher looks at me and says, "You know, some people can do things and some people can't do things. You can't do this. Please give me your flute."   I give the band teacher my flute.

As I look over this incident, I can honestly say this: that band teacher really sucks.

For one thing, and I cannot over emphasize this, I was ELEVEN years old. On top of that, I was an ELEVEN year old BOY.  Eleven year old boys are not known for their ability to follow instructions no matter if it was 1971 or 2016.

It is just an awful thing to tell a child they simply don't have what it takes to play a plastic flute. I'm still not sure what it takes to play a plastic flute.

I'm not sure if the band teacher wanted me to protest it and then come in the next week playing like crazy. Maybe that was it. However, even though I was a smart aleck kid, I was compliant and if an adult told me I couldn't do something, it made sense to me that I couldn't do it.

So, a door was closed to me- I couldn't even be a band nerd. It was closed by an adult, that had observed me for, maybe, three hours total.

That's just the way it was back then. Adults threw kids in a box and that's where you were expected to stay.

By the way, there are tons of my contemporaries who worship this teacher. That's okay. Maybe I was the one kid that he made a mistake with, I don't know.  I'm glad nobody else had my experience.

I'm not going to lie. Five years later in high school I was not thinking, "Man, that teacher kept me from band".  I didn't obsesses over it. Still, I've wonder if this was in the back of my mind: I can't even play a plastic flute.

Last week, my high school celebrated its 50th year of existence. I saw a lot of people I haven't seen in over thirty-five years.  I ran into one of best teachers ever, Roger Hines. He was the most challenging teacher I had at Wheeler. I wrote a paper for him once. Somehow, I made a 92 on it.  I wonder what would have happened if he told me some people can write and others can't.

I probably wouldn't have written a blog for seven years or be coming out with a couple of books.