There is a house, a music house, where everyone is playing . . .
With thanks to the authors of The Napping House, a favorite book of ours–the serial nappers that we are–we can now officially dub our home as “The Music House.” For Christmas Oscar received a small-scale Fender Stratocaster and Edgar a set of drums sized for children two to five years old. And today, yes today, we went to The Violin Shop in Providence to pick up Oscar’s violin. At his request, he starts lessons after New Year’s.
When people asked what the boys were getting for Christmas, the look on their faces when the word “drums” was uttered was alternately terrified and pitying. A three-year-old with drums? Edgar with drums? A little less terror and pity was revealed at the prospect of Oscar with a guitar but only until they learned it was an electric guitar–one that needs to be plugged in. Jokes about earplugs and Excedrin ensued. But I remained giddy at the prospect of a Fender and a pair of drumsticks in the boys’ hands.
To me, music–even music formed by nascent musicians–is anything but noise. I want to hear every note and am confident that any headaches I get will be from sources completely unrelated to Oscar’s and Edgar’s budding musicianship. As clearly the only non-musician in our family, I am in awe of what Don can teach them and more than a little envious of what they are able so seemingly effortlessly to learn. Surrounding them with music and providing them with ample opportunities to make music, to me, seems a gift they will one day value if not treasure.