|"Is there room for me, kitty?"|
For now, I have passed on the electric organ that my grandmother had given to me and my brother when we were still kids. I remember spending hours just making a joyful noise, trying to figure out songs, or making up my own. I thought that my children would enjoy it, too. Plus, I reasoned that it would be a wonderful way to nurture their musical interests even further.
I forgot one small thing though: that electric organ doesn’t have a volume button. And oh, is that organ loud and obnoxious! Of course, my kids love the thing to death. They are forever asking me if they can play it. Each time I am torn between my desire to encourage my children’s love of music and my fantasies of all the ways I can destroy that monstrosity. My love for my children wins in the end (except on days when I have a headache), but I find myself still trying to find somewhere--anywhere--to hide from the electric organ when it is in use.
I attempted to show my kids how to play it beautifully or at least tolerably. After a few demonstrations, my daughter is doing a little better. My son, however, enjoys making the organ screech and howl. (I know who will be doing our Halloween sound effects this year!) The more obnoxious and horrible he can make it sound, the better he likes it. Yes, boys will be boys. I’ll let him get his kicks from seeing how badly he can play.
But eventually, if he is anything like me (and I know he is), he will tire of making noise and long to make music again. It’s in our genes--in our blood--and he won’t be able to resist it for very long. Until then, I will be grimacing and cowering here in organ oblivion, waiting patiently until sanity returns to me again!