The Exhausted Dad: Middle school band and the mystery squeak

My 11-year-old daughter plays clarinet in her sixth-grade band. When she practices in her room, she usually sounds pretty good, especially considering the music isn’t really intended as a solo act. The squeaks and squeals you expect from a beginner musician have been, thankfully, few and far between.

This week, however, my daughter continued her unlucky streak of being sick either just before or just after each of her evening band concerts. While the common cold isn’t serious, it can make playing an instrument (or really any activity) absolutely miserable.

This time, she developed a sore throat the day of her concert. She didn’t think it hurt all that bad, but the anxiety of it “getting worse” just before her 7 p.m. concert sent her into an hours-long panic.

“Do you KNOW how hard it is to play a clarinet when you’re sick? It’s basically the worst thing that can happen to you at a concert!”

Without any personal experience to reference, I tried to validate her concerns but also told her throat probably didn’t enjoy all her frazzled rambling.

She rested. She puffed about 135 doses of Vitamin C throat spray in her mouth and tried to focus on the most important part of a concert night: The selection of takeout food after the performance. She chose Wendy’s, by the way, mostly for how a cold, smooth chocolate Frosty would feel on her throat after the show.

The whole Wilson family attended the concert, and once we settled into our spot on the bleachers inside the middle school gym, we watched our daughter enter onto the gym floor from the band room. She looked TERRIBLE. Pale. Eyes barely open. An Igor-like posture and rubber bands for arms.

This might not be our daughter’s best performance.

As the band began to play their first song (don’t ask me the names of things; all I can tell you is it wasn’t John Williams), we could hear the occasional SQUEAK from somewhere in the band.

I glanced over at my wife, who was biting her lip and flinching with every squeak. As a former (All-State!) middle and high school clarinet player, she knew the unpleasant pitch originated from the clarinet section, which contained four total sixth graders, including my daughter. Oh no. Could it be her?!

It would certainly be understandable. She felt like garbage! Still, we know our daughter well enough to worry about the fallout of a bad performance. She’ll be hard on herself. She’ll think about it non-stop for weeks. She’ll tell the story of her “embarrassing” display to her kids and grandkids one day.

I assure you that her personal high standard is not rooted in her parents’ expectations. We wanted her to join band for fun, and, while it’s great to work hard and develop a skill, we’d never push her to the point where she felt like she had to impress us in any way. I can’t play any instrument!

After a show full of clarinet squeaks, my wife and I huddled for a whispered discussion of how to proceed. No. 1: The other three kids shouldn’t hear us talking about the possibility of their big sister being the Squeak-Queen of the Night. No. 2: We decided we weren’t going to mention it to her. No. 3: If she brings it up, we’re going to pretend like it wasn’t particularly noticeable.

I worried. She’d know if we were lying. She might feel worse if we downplay it!

The bad thing about a middle school band concert is having to sit through the other grade’s performances. They’re older and sound better, and one time they played a John Williams Joint! Still, as adverse as I am to crowds, I don’t want to be crammed into a crowded gymnasium any longer than necessary.

My daughter sat with her band mates at the side of the gym for the remainder of the show. She continued to look very sick and even more unhappy to be sitting through the seventh/eighth grade jazz band (again, no hate, but let’s cool it with the lengthy solo improvisations, OK?).

When the show finally ended, the family reconnected with our ill lil’ clarinet player and proceeded to the most important part of the excursion: Wendy’s (not a sponsor of this column, as far as I know, but we can change that!).

Even though my daughter could barely keep her eyes open in the car, my wife tried to test the waters on the squeak front.

My wife: “I thought the whole band played well. You’ve made a lot of progress from the beginning of the year.”

My daughter after a long, exhausted sigh: “Yeah.”

My wife: “How do you think you did?”

OMG. Don’t poke the bear!

Then, unexpectedly, my daughter perked up in her seat.

My daughter: “Even though I didn’t feel good it wasn’t very hard. I knew the songs well.”

Then my wife went straight to the issue, and my heart about stopped: “Who was squeaking? Could you tell?”

My daughter (rolling her eyes): “Oh that was (name omitted). She ALWAYS squeaks through the songs. She never played it right during practice this week. But that’s OK. I sounded GREAT.”

So despite being ill, apparently my daughter executed the middle school band equivalent of the Michael Jordan flu game. She got one Frosty that night and another to put in the freezer for the next day. Because that’s what all-stars deserve.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student and parent to four kids, ages 5-11. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.