Trumpet

Male music teachers must love The Music Man because it’s about a male music teacher who is actually respected in the community. Mr. Bueler, for one, loved it. He was my male music teacher in 7th grade. Whenever he wanted to look fun or feel sad, he showed The Music Man.

Also: Mr. Bueler wore tank tops rather than t-shirts under his dress shirts. When he would wear one of these, which he did every day, we thought it looked like a bra, or at least said it did. Girls had just started talking about how they wore bras. This was exciting. Bras touched their boobs.

But we played it easy.

Bras? Pfff. Who cares? Talk about them all you want. No erection here.

Maybe Mr. Bueler’s bras had something to do with why we thought he had sex with Mr. Rust, the math teacher. Mr. Bueler and Mr. Rust practiced trombones together. Really.

Looking back, I can’t say what we would have done if we had known just what a rusty trombone was. Good god. Good fucking god.

Exploded.

In the junior high band of Mr. Bueler’s, I played a trumpet. It was silver. This was important to me because most trumpets looked brass. What was most important, though, was that the trumpet had a spit valve.

You got to put spit on the floor. You had to.

In 5th grade, I’m not sure why I picked the trumpet when students were upgrading from that brittle dick reed of a swordfish known as a recorder. I don’t remember too much about it except for feeling like a fucking Austrian composer when I learned how to play “Hot Cross Buns.” One-a-pen-ny, two-a-pen-ny, I-AM-GOD!

Oh yes, we also learned how to play “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore”, which, really, is pretty heavy shit for a middle-class white private schooler in the 4th grade.

Come to think of it, “Hot Cross Buns” is a step up from humming “I Believe I Can Fly” into saran wrap during a third grade Christmas concert. Wait, that might have been an anachronistic reference.

Anyway, I picked the trumpet because (1) clarinets are for girls and (2) the saxophone is for quitters and jazz nerds. Also, I had two uncles who played trumpet and I knew one of them would still have theirs.

Dear Uncle Don/Mark,

Thanks for both giving up and hording your personal belongings.

Best wishes,

Dave

I did not, however, play trumpet in band at my very public high school because, as a consequence, I would have been in high school band. I wasn’t up for working my ass off to get made fun of.

Or, as I said, be in high school band.

Then, between my sophomore and junior year, I pawned my trumpet for $35. I’d played a few times in between with the church brass group at the church my parents made me attend. It was there in Sunday School where they called me a Communist for saying drugs should be legalized. I don’t know what the topic was. Probably Jesus-related.

I read during the sermon to make everyone mad. It worked. Very disrespectful,  they said. So I took notes during the sermon so I could critique Jesus at lunch.

Trumpet: “I’m sorry,” the man at the pawn shop said, “that all I can give you is this. It’s just that … (excuse) …

I took the money.

“It’s alright,” I said.

Then, as soon as I got home, I put a folder of sheet music in the trash.