For last week’s Flashback Friday, I regaled you with the story of being a pianoboy in my youth; this week, I hopefully will regale you even more with tales of my transformation into Bandboy (yet another variation of Tenacious D’s “Wonderboy”).

In elementary school, in addition to playing piano, I also pretended to play another instrument: the trombone.

Since my best friend and next-door neighbor, Ed, played, I had to follow suit and have my own very own trombone in its case to lug up the stairs to our bus each morning:

trombone case

Five years ago, I even wrote a poem with the trombone cases in it:

Waiting For The School Bus

Sometimes it is as heavy as
the bookbags we tote, the trombone cases
Ed and I lug up the stairs.

Other times words fill the spaces between us
until a passing tractor-trailer cuts off our sentences,
and we fall back into it.

Twenty or more years later, I shut off the radio
on my way to work and listen to that sweet absence:
it is a burden I gladly bear.

To be honest, though, it wasn’t that much fun lugging the case up those stairs and is probably one of the reasons I ended up quitting playing the trombone. That, and the spit.

From what I remember, the trombone had a spit valve on it for you to clean out your own spit. I guess it reminded me of a great-grandmother who used to have a snuff pot sitting beside her couch, where she’d spit her tobacco. Gross.

So instead, I decided to play percussion. It wasn’t drums at the time. It was percussion, mainly because while you needed drumsticks, you didn’t need a drum to play. In fact, I started in sixth grade on something like this:

Then in seventh grade, when I went to “the high school” (ours was a junior-senior high school combined), I graduated to something like this:

Snare drum

I think at one concert, I got to crash the cymbals together!!! And, yes, chagrined to say it, I even may have plinked a triangle:


although I didn’t bare my chest as much as that, which at that age didn’t matter as much since I had no chest hair.

Then in eighth grade, I moved on up to the Big Boy: the bass drum:

bass drum

That’s when I called it quits on playing drums, because between wearing the gay band uniform (apologies to the homosexuals for co-opting the term for my own purposes and to my wife who was a band geek) and strapping on (now doesn’t that sound gay?) the equipment needed to play the bass drum, it was just too much.

Of course, that’s why later I chose to wear a uniform much more sensible (and a mustache that didn’t make me look like Freddie Mercury or anything at the age of 16):

Even though they may kick out after reading this post for my plinking on the triangle, for the time being, I am a proud member of these following groups:

Humor Bloggers


Author’s Notes: 1. This is part two of a four-part Spring Concert series here at Unfinished Rambler on Flashback Fridays throughout the month of April. Part III next Friday, April 17: ChristianRockboy/teen. 2. The reason this post today was delayed until Saturday is because as mentioned yesterday, The Wife and I were on an unscheduled trip to Niagara Falls. A post on that trip will be up for this week’s Meandering Monday, complete with photos and witty remarks from The Wife. 3. For added bonus materials, yep like on DVDs, click on many of the photos for Youtube videos which I found which related…well, somewhat to the photos.

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