Sometimes I forget that most homes do not have live music pouring from their doors and windows every day from 4:00 to 6:00 PM. But here we are.
My sons were still toddlers the first time they saw the instruments they’d play.
I was heavily pregnant with my youngest son, Tomas, when I waddled over to our local library with my oldest son, Massimo, then one year old, to watch mariachis play a special family concert. I grew up in Los Angeles where mariachis are practically on every corner. No, really there is a place called Mariachi Plaza in Boyle Heights where my grandpa grew up where bands congregate, play and pick up gigs. I heard mariachis play practically every weekend. Music filled the air from parks, backyard parties, Mexican restaurants and of course, someone’s stereo.
When I saw the advertisement for the free concert in my neighborhood in Seattle, I figured my little 62.5% Mexican kid needed to hear our music.
At the library, Massimo climbed up on my disappearing lap to wait for the concert. He had a little Tupperware of Cheerios in his hand. He sat munching quietly as the music was introduced. Then as soon as the first crisp clear notes of the trumpet burst through the room, he set down his snack, looked at me with tears in his eyes and took my hand. At first, I thought the music scared him. It was loud. But no, my kid was emotional.
He reminded me of my Nana, when my Grandpa would ask the mariachis at the restaurant to play one of their old love songs over dinner. Her children would still make the request after my grandpa died. A song by José Alfredo Jiménez or Vicente Fernández brought tears to her eyes.
Honestly, I think that was the moment my son decided to play the trumpet. Ok, he was one but I like to make sure every moment of our life is epic and we are all characters in a book (because we will be one day.)
Two years later, my husband and I took these boys to an instrument “petting zoo” at a museum downtown. The event was to encourage music education and expose children to musical instruments.
My oldest got in line to get his hands on a trumpet and my youngest who was only 2 and a half at the time got in line for the violin. These are the instruments my sons have stuck with ever since.
Neither my husband or I are very musical. We dabbled but nothing really stuck. When these boys begged to learn to play these instruments, we really didn’t know what to do. We tried to steer them toward soccer or baseball like the other kids but it was music that captivated their attention.
It’s 4pm on a Thursday. The boys have just got home from school. They shove a bunch of food down their gullets before sprinting upstairs to practice.
Massimo points his trumpet out of the second story window into our yard below. He jumps quickly between American songbook classics, marching band standards and jazz improvisation. One refrain will remind him of another. It rarely sounds as if he's playing an entire song the whole way through, but changing the dial between stations.
On the other side of the hallway in the room looking south, above the street below, Tomas practices his violin. He plays scales and classical concertos from start to finish. Rarely do the two musicians play with each other as their repertoire rarely crosses but every once in a while, one will start in on a hymn and from the other side of the hallway and house, the other will join in. Downstairs, making dinner, I begin to hum along, then sing,
Christ, our Lord, to you we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.
One joyful chorus.
Beautiful.
I saved this for when I had the time to soak it in. Oh, I am singing right along with you all!