Band Geeks

Awhile back, I learned that Miss Healthypants played the trombone during high school and college. As a matter of fact, she was a pretty talented trombonist. Very talented in fact.

I saw evidence of this when she and Iwanski played an old video of her when she was in a jazz band in college. When it came time for her solo, she stood up in her cute little tuxedo and just belted out this incredibly intricate solo.

The girl definitely had some chops.

I wanted to hear her play again, but alas, she had no trombone.

So, recently I found a place that rents out band instruments and I procured a trombone for Miss Tromboneypants. (I also got a French horn for myself since that’s what I played when I was a band geek).

I surprised her with it this past weekend which you can read about here on her blog.

The girl has definitely got some chops. Here’s a video of her playing it.


Okay, back to me and the French horn.

Back when I began the 6th grade, I was so incredibly excited over getting to play the French horn. The first couple of weeks, we learned how to take care of our instruments and weren’t allowed to take them home just yet.

But I remember, oh so well, that first day we could take our band instruments home to practice. Oh my goodness, I was one proud little dork walking home with that French horn case.

Lots of my friends got to play football for the first time and were proud to don all those football pads. But while walking home that day, I just knew that everyone could plainly see that I was, indeed, a bona fide French horn player. I practically floated home that day.

Last week when I was picking up the trombone and my own French horn from the rental shop, there was a little band geek and his mom in the shop as well. He had glasses and looked to be in 6th grade or maybe going to start 6th grade.

He and his mom were there to pick up a trombone as well. The clerk was showing him how to care for it, how to apply the slide oil, and how to empty the spit from the spit-valve (he seemed particularly interested in the spit-valve.)

Anyway, after his mom paid for the instrument, he picked it up and was all smiles. As he walked out to their car, I was thinking, “There you go, little guy. I know very well how proud you feel right about now!”

I have to say, that after I paid for the rentals it felt really good to be walking down the street with a French horn once again. It’s been 32 years since I’ve played one.

But as I was walking down that street last week, I was twelve years old all over again.