Little Critic

Last week, my cousin-in-law's father passed away. This is my cousin's wife's father - no actual relation, but I'm close to her, so I wanted to go to the funeral even though I'd never actaully met him. Try explaining that to co-workers - "So it's your cousin's father . . . your uncle, then? No? How did that go again?" They were gracious enough to let me off, and even use berevement leave for the day, but I'm not sure any of them understood the relationship.

ANYWAY, I attended a funeral and got to play with my cousin's twins (extra bonus) and sing in the service (not so much of a bonus, especially for the listeners).

Our family - my folks and my brothers - have always been "the musical family". The quotes here indicate that though other family members think we're the Von Trapps, or maybe the Partridge family, it's so not true. My mom made sure we all had piano lessons (and trumpet and cello and saxaphone and singing for me). We've all done our stint singing in church, and mom's always a pianist or organist in whatever church she's in. My older brother can play any instrument he meets, and plays some local clubs from time to time. He and my mom are both quite talented. My younger brother spent a year singing with Up With People, but I've never actually heard him sing so the jury's still out there. My dad and I are normally passable enough to not deserve to be yanked off stage by a giant hook as long as the genre doesn't steer far from a hymnal. I guess we must not be as bad as I think, because this was the 3rd or 4th funeral I've sung in and I haven't been blacklisted yet.

So we start practicing the night before the service. Mom starts cranking at the piano, and my dad and I start wailing away at The Old Rugged Cross. In the middle of the first verse, in races the Little Man. Screaming. I picked him up, he starts hitting me in the face to get me to stop Stop STOP!!!

We paused, and I explained to him that it was just a rehearsal and that it really would get better. He calmed down. We started back up. And so did he. Going to each of us in turn - putting his little hands under Grandma's bottom to Get Up, and trying to hit Grandpa and I to get us to Shut Up. His dad eventually made him stay in the basement to play because the Music Critic showed up every time we started singing.

He stopped letting me sing lullabyes to him about 6 months ago with similar violent tactics, but I didn't figure he'd do the same thing to his grandparents who he ADORES. Alas, The Critic was more prominent than I had thought.

As we practiced, it became more and more evident that we hadn't sung together for several years. We ended the night sounding ok though my dad's voice was failing and my mom's cold was getting the better of her. The next morning, we didn't have a chance to practice before the service and, though my folks got several compliments on the "lovely music", and I'm sure the family appreciated our effort, I'm inclined to think that the Little Man has a better ear than I gave him credit for.