This Or That?

Democrat or Republican? Liberal or Conservative? Cubs or White Sox? Music or sports? There have been a few times in my life when I was Republican. It was when my parents were paying for everything and I thought everyone had the exact same opportunities as I did. I proclaim myself to be left of liberal but in honesty, there are at least a few areas where I might be considered conservative. I spent some time as a Cubs fan. That was before the Cubs organization started selling all of their good tickets to brokers and I had to pay an obscene amount of money to watch a mediocre team in a ramshackle stadium. If I were to check boxes today, most likely I'd say I'm a liberal Democrat Sox fan. The one area where I have not waffled has been in the argument between sports and music.

Two of my most humiliating life experiences are directly related to music. In my elementary school, fourth grade was the first time we could sign up for band. I attended a very small school in a very small town. The music room was part of the high school which was located across the parking lot from the elementary school. Therefore band students were escorted to the high school for class. That was all I needed to hear to become fired up for music education.

Before committing to an instrument we were allowed to try out the various offerings. The flute was too delicate and too much of a draw for the girly girls who were not at all like me. The clarinet and saxophone tickled my lips too much. The trumpet and trombone made my lips look ridiculous. It was obvious. I was to become a drummer.

The first year band teacher was patently overwhelmed by our enthusiasm and lack of talent. I'm sure he must have explained the relationship between the notes on the paper and the strike of the drumstick but it didn't sink in with me. Music simply didn't make logical sense. I am convinced that band teacher's manuals must have a standard directive for those times when students are abject failures. I envision a bullet point, in bold capital letters that says: when your students are horrible, you should say "You just need to practice more." It was fourth grade band that taught me it doesn't matter how much you practice if you practice something the wrong way.

About mid-year we were told that we would compete to see who would hold the title of first chair. There were two of us drummers. My fellow 4th grade drummer had a badly broken hand and was still awarded first chair. I knew my days as a drummer were limited.

In college I had delusions of being a teacher. I was a great education major right up until I had to do a practicum with actual children. Before that practicum-induced epiphany I had to take the class Music for Morons. I'm sure there must have been a different title in the catalog but mine is more descriptive. The class was for those few people who hadn't participated in a high school band or choir. When designing the education curriculum someone must have thought that to be an effective teacher, we would need to lead songs or perhaps play a harpsichord or a recorder.

The professor assigned to the class must have been on punishment for some major transgression. She was an opera diva masquerading as a full professor in the music department. There was no need to infer that she didn't want to teach the class. She was direct and told us so. She was dismayed that we had lived 18 plus years without being able to read music or clap in some semblance of a beat. In Music for Morons we were to learn to play a song on a plastic recorder and play a song on the harpsichord while singing along. Those two performances would determine our grade.

Following the directions in her teacher's manual, she would be the second person to tell me that I just needed to practice more. The final exam song for the recorder was the evangelical altar call hymn: Just As I Am. My dorm room neighbors made a pilgrimage to my room on their knees and promised immediate conversion if only I'd stop practicing.

That semester I had spent a disproportionate amount of time preparing for that class. I did practice more. I did try harder. At my final exam I announced the title of the song and set about plucking out the tune on the harpsichord while singing along. At the end of my performance, the professor declared that had I not told her the name of the song, she would have never figured it out. And then she failed me.

My roommate at the time was a music major and a favorite of this professor. She went to her and pleaded my case. She explained how hard I had practiced. She begged her for mercy. The professor relinquished and gave me a "C" on the condition that I would never take the class again in an effort to improve my grade. This was the lowest grade I had ever received. The humiliation reinforced the message that I was not a music person, I was a sports person.

I had never been humiliated playing sports. I had made mistakes. I had made mistakes at crucial times when my success could have turned around the game. But each time I made the mistake I was able to learn. Hitting a ball and shooting a hoop made sense to me. A coach could show me the proper way to catch a fly ball and I could do it. I could practice it perfectly and be ready for a game situation. It was as easy for me as music was hard.

In school it didn't take long for us to separate into the music kids and the sports kids. The music kids described PE as absolute torture. They didn't understand the appeal of hitting a small white ball or running endlessly up and down a wooden court. I didn't understand the appeal of playing an instrument while marching around a football field wearing wool pants and vinyl boots in 90 degree heat.

I've noticed that as a parent, I am somewhat unintentionally pushing my kids in one direction. My kids have been to just about every type of professional sporting event in Chicago and several in different cities. One time we stopped by Millenium Park during an orchestra concert. It was by mistake and Peyton asked when the exciting music would start. At age seven Peyton has played several seasons of soccer and softball and basketball. She has yet to take a music class.

When Peyton was three we did sign her up for the park district ballet and tap dance class. During each class she looked as if she were having a seizure. At the final performance of the class the teacher went from family to family handing out the business card of her private dance studio and encouraging them to sign up their daughters for more instruction. There was no card handed to us just a polite pat on my arm and the assurance the Peyton really had improved since the first class.

Last Fall I asked Peyton if she wanted to participate in our church's children's choir again. She declared that "music really wasn't her thing." I explained that she was six and didn't really have a "thing" yet. I want her to be more balanced. I want her to appreciate both sports and fine arts.

A couple of weeks ago Peyton tried out for the travel soccer team. At the parent meeting we were told this would be a year long commitment. Each week there would be two 90-minute practices. There would be multiple games each weekend. We listened as the coaches explained how our children must begin this early in order to develop the skills necessary to compete at the high school level. Functionally this would mean that Peyton would be involved in one activity. Not only would it narrow her to a sports kid but within the sports category she would become a soccer player. There would be no time for the other sports she has come to love. There would be no opportunity for choir or piano lessons.

We asked her opinion but in the end we had to make the "mommy decision" that we felt was right for our kid. We turned down the travel team for now. Seven-years-old is just too young to declare a passion. Seven is too young to decide this OR that. We want our kids to decide this AND that.

Most likely I am being hyper-sensitive to the "AND" thing because of where I'm at spiritually right now. I'm becoming more and more frustrated at exclusion. I am frustrated by the idea that in order for us to live in community with one another, we must agree completely.

This week I participated in a round table discussion about where we felt God was calling our church. I declared that I thought God was calling us to be more inclusive of diverse worship styles and music and people. I said that I wanted us to become even more open. I explained that it was my dream for our congregation to appreciate the elements that were not their favorites because they realized that it was feeding the person sitting next to them. A woman at my table declared that she was tired of us trying to be all things for all people and felt like God wanted us to decide who we were and let people figure out if this was the right place for them or not. And if they decided that they didn't want to worship like us, then they should find another place. This "or" that with no room for "and."

I do love theater but have no interest in acting. In all honesty I believe that God's big joke is that I love music and have absolutely no musical aptitude. I can appreciate art but have zero interest in creating it. My life would be decidedly less if I excluded those things. My life would be decidedly less if I excluded people who are not like me. Now I just have to figure out how to get more "and" in my life.