The Conductor had an extra spring in his step. He bounced up the podium, surveyed the crowd, smiled at familiar faces. Not a single empty seat! “Why hasn’t it been this way for the last 20 years?” he joked to the audience. But he knew the answer. Tonight’s concert was different.
Nostalgia in his voice, he gave a brief speech before turning around, facing the band and lifting his baton. With a poignant pause, he took in the moment. Right there, with his students ready to play their hearts out for him – this is what he loved. As he prepared to launch us into the first song, he glanced my way and gave me a wink.
The Conductor was my dad.
It was June of 1981 and it had been a long school year. Being the long-haired clarinet player and high school freshman punk that I was, I had a perpetual chip on my shoulder. Dad was quite overweight, occasionally temperamental and an easy target for students. I vividly remember the day when a beautiful senior band mate, Wendy, and a couple of her friends approached me in the cafeteria. She had a big grin on her face.
“Your dad’s an ASSHOLE.”
There were times at school when I’d join the crowd and make fun of him. Did I mention I was a punk? Looking back, I can see where it came from. Dad was gone a lot while I was growing up, and I’d grown to resent it. For the last couple of years I had no direction, hung with the wrong crowd, and started to drift.
So here’s Wendy, a gorgeous senior who I had a huge crush on (and she knew it), standing there with her friends and throwing shade. But this time, it was different. I remember thinking, Sure, Dad can be an asshole sometimes but only I can call him that!
Before I knew it, the words came flying out of my mouth. Loudly.
“FUCK you!”
I can still see the utter shock on her face, along with her friends and pretty much everyone who heard me, which was most of the lunchtime crowd. She quickly scooted off; surely she didn’t expect that from me.
I was pretty surprised myself!
No one really prepares you to be a high school freshman. Trying to fit in and look cool quickly became a losing battle for me. Being the son of a teacher didn’t help, and I’d grown to despise the clarinet. It just wasn’t cool, certainly not as cool as me. Shouldn’t I be playing the drums or something?
Alas, I thought I was doomed to keep playing the instrument I’d chosen for myself back in fourth grade. It sounds so ridiculous now.
A Turning Point
As the school year was drawing to a close, I’d had enough. There was an ever-growing tension with Dad and it was palpable. Without question, I was mostly to blame for it. After dinner one evening, I told him I wasn’t going to be in band the next year, it just wasn’t fun anymore. I knew it would be hard for him to hear, and by that point I didn’t care in the slightest.
His response surprised the hell out of me.
“Son, I’ve been meaning to share some news with you and this is as good a time as any. I’ve decided to step down from the high school. Starting this fall, I’ll take over the music department at the Junior High and elementary school levels, but my tenure at Lincoln is done.
Duuude!
He was just 45 at the time and had been teaching at Lincoln for 20 years. But all of the night rehearsals, the band trips, dealing with mouthy teenagers (myself included) and just everything had taken its toll, and he confided that he wasn’t having much fun either. It’s what he suggested next though, that changed the course of my life in ways that I’ll probably never fully know.
“I’d hate to see you quit Mike, you’re so talented. So you don’t like the clarinet anymore. Why are you still playing it? Play the drums, play the sax, play something, play anything. Just don’t be so hasty to quit music. Besides, you won’t have your old man to kick around next year!”
WOW.
I couldn’t sleep that night, the words from our conversation rattling around in my cranium. I thought how this must’ve been a hard decision for him. He loved teaching at the high school, and I couldn’t help thinking he was downgrading his career in a way. Earlier in the school year, many of his students were caught drinking on an out-of-town trip. It was bad. Parents were called and told to pick up their kids. School suspensions were handed out. Dad had to answer to the school principal and superintendent. To say he was humbled and humiliated would be an understatement. Could that have factored in his decision?
On one hand, I still wanted to quit band just to spite him. I didn’t fully realize at the time how much I missed his absence during much of my adolescence, and I blamed band for it. From where I stood, it was band that robbed me of so much time with Dad, and I thought quitting would be a passive-aggressive way of sticking it to him.
Then I started picturing myself playing the drums. Chicks love drummers, don’t they? And I secretly loved jazz, so the thought of playing sax in the jazz band was extremely appealing. Hmmm!
And so I did. For the rest of my high school days, I played drums in the marching band, sax in the jazz band, and had the time of my life. To this day, being in band has been some of the best times of my life – the memories, the friendships, the music, the everything. I was no longer “Mr. F’s kid.” I was just me, and although I was still trying to figure out exactly who I was, one thing became clear: I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I didn’t want to be a punk, a jerk, a guy who would to try anything and everything to fit in.
I lightened up. Cut my hair short. Started working out. And found my people.
Back to the night of the concert. Before leaving for the school that night, I walked by Mom and Dad’s room and saw him getting ready. He was sporting a tux and looking at himself in the mirror. I stood there for a moment just watching him. For the first time in my short life, I saw him as more than just my dad. I saw him as a man in the prime of his career, getting ready for a very special yet bittersweet night in his life.
He looked happy. Sharp. And a little tired.
“Looking good Dad! You ready to do this?”
He turned around, looked at me and smiled.
“No, but let’s do it anyway!” he said with a wink. He walked over and put his hand on my shoulder.
“You look sharp too son. Let’s go have some fun.”
Yeah Dad. Let’s do that.
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