Life of the Party

Tonight my husband and I attended a swanky party on a rooftop in Kansas City. We were surrounded by stylish people who were all well-versed in the art of networking. I like people, and people generally like me. But I always feel like the weirdest kid at this kind of party. If you hang around certain elementary music teachers for long enough, you will discover that many of us are this way. We nerd out over things nobody else knows or cares about. Just this evening, I dazzled a perfect stranger who made a joking and derogatory comment about banjo music. This poor man knew nothing of the banjo’s storied history and prominence in American folk music.

But now he does.

My children love to tell stories about their troubled childhoods with an elementary music teacher for a mother. There was the time that eighteen of Meg’s friends attended her birthday party at our house. Someone—one of my family members who certainly knew better—allowed those darling first graders to start singing the Happy Birthday song before I entered the room with the glowing cake. And they chose eighteen different starting pitches. And sounded like yowling cats.

So I let them do it again. After leading them in a quick vocal exploration exercise. And giving them a comfortable starting pitch. While my three older children rolled their eyes and mocked me. Every one of these kids was my student in the music room at school. They weren’t a bit surprised. The teenagers acted like I was the weirdest mom ever, but I hadn’t even pulled out my tuning fork. I was totally playing it cool. And their unison singing was a thing of beauty. I mean, Happy Birthday! You’re all welcome.

Once upon a time several years ago, Matt was in charge of the pre-bedtime book reading with Meg and our foster son. To experience this story fully, it’s important that I tell you that “Buddy” was four years old and spoke with the most adorable country twang you ever heard. Also, the fire department had come to visit his pre-k class that day.

The Parkers Ruin Nursery Rhymes, A Family Memory:

Scene: Adoring father is seated on the sofa, a smiling child on either side. He opens a tattered, well-loved nursery rhyme book and begins to read. Mother is standing nearby in the kitchen. Older son lounges on the floor playing with the family dogs.

Father: “…along came a spider and sat down beside her…”

Mother: “Ehhhh…”

Father: “What? What is it?”

Mother, who cannot stop teaching music: “Well, it’s just…don’t you think that one ought to have a 6/8 feel?”

Father, incredulous: “I don’t know. Does that matter?”

Mother: “Only if you care about reinforcing the natural pattern of our language.”

Father: “Whatever. Moving on…I can’t remember the tune to this next one.”

Mother, who is rarely invited to parties: ” That’s okay. I’d prefer you just speak it.”

Most patient man in the world: “Ok…is there–“

Mother: “–a reason? Glad you asked. The melody was invented long after the rhyme was passed down. In fact, most of the melodies we associate with nursery rhymes were written for beginning pianists, not young singers. This song, in particular, was written to practice reaching a sixth. The tune is awful.”

Darling daughter: “I can do this one by myself (sings sweetly)…Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top…”

Older son: “Wait. This one is really dark. I mean, that poor baby falls out of a tree. Should we be singing this in front of [foster child]? Hasn’t he been through enough?”

Father: “What do you think, [foster child]?”

Foster child, matter-of-factly: “You should stop, drop, and roll if you catch on fire.”

Darling daughter: “That’s true. Actually, that’s way scarier than a falling baby, don’t you think?”