Adventures in freakdom.
For those who know what this means: that black widow didn’t just move when I took the lid off, it came sailing through the air towards my hand, despite being dead. You’d scream and jump like a little girl, too.
Last night, we had to go to a band concert at the local high school. The spud plays the flute in one of the bands, and twice a year the director schedules an arduous concert which he forces on us parents. I call it arduous for several reasons.
One, the band director, who has a name similar to the recently deceased singer known for wearing black, is one talky motherfucker. Every single concert, he gets up and chatters for about 20 minutes, telling us the same stuff he told us at the last concert. Then, he jabbers between songs, telling unfunny anecdotes about some band thing or another. Seriously, a concert entails more time listening to him than listening to bands play.
Two, there are four bands at this school. Robyn and I enjoy listening to the spud play. We enjoy listening to the spud’s band play. We don’t enjoy — call us selfish if you want — all the other bands play. We have no real vested interest in them.
Three, it screws up my schedules, and I’m like Rain Man when it comes to the schedules. I just don’t feel right if things get all out of whack with regards to my evening schedule.
Torture. That’s a good word for what Robyn and I think about the concerts, the spud’s band playing notwithstanding. It’s torture, and we bail as soon as we can, right after the spud’s band (usually second or third in line for playing) finishes.
The spud, on the other hand, seems to think there’d be nothing more enjoyable than staying the entire evening, basking in the breeze generated by the hot air flowing from the band director and listening to every note from every instrument from every song from every band. Plus, they serve refreshments at the end, for the people who were stupid brave loyal enough to stay through it all.
Tuesday, she surreptitiously asked Robyn — probably because she knew she’d get a firm and quick “No” from me — if we could stay for the whole concert.
“No,” Robyn said, firmly and quickly. After all, we have better things to do than sit around and listen to other people’s kids play Christmas songs. Like sit around and watch TV or read. You know, quality stuff.
The spud said nothing about it again until yesterday at dinner. We were enjoying our curried chicken, and Robyn and the spud were additionally enjoying watching me choke and sputter because I put too much homemade hot mustard sauce on mine. I love the hot food, you know. (Note: Chinese mustard on Indian food is still good, plus that recipe needs a little salt and a touch more sugar to taste just right)
“Fred,” the spud said, “Can we–”
“No.” (Cough. Wheeze.)
“–stay at the concert–”
“No.” (Hack. Wipe tears.)
“–and watch the jazz band?”
“No.” (Flail arms and beat on table. Wonder if nose is going to fall off.)
“Why?” As Robyn has noted elsewhere, the spud is going through the “why?” phase that most kids go through when they’re three. She’s fifteen.
“Because we don’t want to sit through it all. We like hearing you play, and we like hearing your band, but we don’t want to listen to all the others. We have better things to do with our time.”
I considered.
“Just think about it though,” I added, “next year you can drive yourself, and you’ll be able to stay for all of them.” I grinned.
She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“When I’m driving,” she said, archly, “I’m sure I’ll have better things to do than hang out at a concert!”
I blinked at her for a second.
“Irony,” I said, “thy name is spud.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
On a more somber note, I ran into a coworker/customer at the concert last night, one I work with pretty closely and with whom I’ve gone bike-riding in the past. At company/customer functions we usually gravitate toward one another because we have a lot in common, even though he’s in his 50’s (Hey, is it sad that I still think of people like that as “grownups”?). His daughter is in one of the bands that was performing in the concert.
He told me that he has to go into the hospital for surgery Monday, to have a large just-discovered unknown (might be a polyp, might be a tumor) growth removed from his large intestine. He’ll be in the hospital over Christmas, and recovering for several weeks after that.
He looked scared, and for the first time since I’ve known him he looked old. I thought about it a lot last night while I was trying to get to sleep. We live our lives thinking this stuff always happens to someone else, some stranger or a friend of a friend, and then someone we know really well is suddenly in a potential life-or-death situation. It’s an eye-opener, and it serves as a reminder that every moment needs to count.
Even sadder, of all the people I work with daily — maybe 40 or 50 folks — he’s the only other one I know who works out as religiously and is as anal about what he eats as I am.
Go tell someone you care about them.
If you want to get notified whenever Fred writes a journal entry, this link will do the trick.
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We had a school Christmas concert last night as well. I guess they have gotten smart because each group has their own night (elementary school so just 2 groups) but it works great. My son is on stage the whole time, the only annoyance is the post concert refreshments - then home before it gets too late. I don’t blame you one bit!
I understand completely, Fred. I have had to sit through many a school program for my son. Only at their school they keep the kids not performing behind stage and don’t release them to their parents (until they are in the middle school grade age) so in essence they HOLD US HOSTAGE through the entire program!! A couple years ago, I walked to the back of the stage from the side door and asked for my kid and only upon my complete dogged insistence did they let me come in and get him…….I am so glad he is in 6th grade now and they don’t do that…
oh Fred, on your last note, I am telling both you and Robyn that I care about you very much.
Have a happy holiday everyone!
I always end up re-reading The Death of Ivan Ilych at times like that. Er, the sick friend, not the band-torture.
Good reminder Fred. Things get so hectic and commercial this time of year it serves us well to think and appreciate.
Fred,sorry to hear about your friend.You are right!
We should value our lives & everyone we care about more so.
Yeah, it’s all very well telling people you care about that you love them etc, but it don’t change who they are and the fact that they can’t love you back how you want them to. I’m talking mother’s here,(or maybe just my mother
) Sometimes the price of emotional involvement, is just too much to pay. Sometimes you just have to know in your heart that you do love them, say it to them once, and move on. Hey Happy Christmas 
As a flutish I can relate to the spud. Warning: No advice intended. Could you not find another parent to maybe “drop her off”?
I am closing in on the last of my 2 kids graduating from high school in around 5 months. I will not “miss” sitting through long, boring concerts!
and Yes, it is great when they can drive themselves there and back, but gosh, that’s another story - it’s called worry and stress until they pull into the driveway.
Sorry about your friend, and you are so right - we never know. I hope it’s just a polyp.
I had a good laugh at how you wrote your convesation with the pre-empted “no’s”.
The spud should be happy you are even willing to go to her concert. And you should remind of her of it
Our two youngest had their shows last night, my 6 year old played a “tree” in the play and my 10 year old played the viola. :::sigh::: these times will be over before we know it and our kids will be gone. Maybe you could find someone to bring her home next time so she can stay. I hope your friends surgery shows a benign growth. We never know when our lives will be changed forever. Merry Christmas! JEN
Well, I am in the minority here I see! I always made my husband and children stay until the end of any concert, play or show..I thought it rude of people to get up and walk out when their kid was done. Are we so selfish that we only care about our kid?? Other kids need feedback and like approval too. I thought that the kids at the end of the concert like to have an audience to!! What fun to be last on the show and play to a half-empty audience?? No hate mail please–it’s just my opinion. (My husband, had I allowed him, would have been out the door with you, Fred!)
Fred-if you would have stayed until the end of the concert you could have told the band director just how much you cared about him -or rather just what you think of him- just in case you don’t see him EVER AGAIN! (since the spud can drive herself next year).
By leaving early you missed a great opportunity! LOL
Fred…. I care about you! Merry Christmas!
)
Hey Fred, What’s up — I just found that you posted several entries last week, and I didn’t get a single “Notify” email? ~~Winter
If spud wants to stay for the whole thing - can’t you arrange to have her dropped off at home afterwards or pick her up when she’s ready?