French Horn...... OF TERROR!

Things happen to me. I am not sure why, but I’m a magnet to the unimaginable. I am never safe. Home, work, the car I can not hide from all the craziness. I never really chose to be a music teacher because it was a “safe profession”, but who would think you could be injured by a musical instrument. I bruised my lung playing the trumpet, dislocated my thumb on a bongo, I have had a piano and a file cabinet almost tip over on me. Last year a tuba fell off the shelves and nearly squished one of my students. Being a band teacher is painful at times, but it is almost always really gross. Spit, oil, musty instruments, did I mention spit. It is a dirty, germ filled profession.

Case in point. I had a student , we’ll call him Tom, my first year of teaching that played french horn. Tom was playing an old school instrument that had many holes and he sadly sounded more like a unhappy moose than a musical instrument. I took the horn home and patched the holes, and he improved some, but after playing on a broken horn for 4 years it was hard to fix what was wrong when he wouldn’t practice out side of school.

The french horn wasn’t my best instrument either. I started playing the French horn in 5th grade but when my teacher found out at the end of my 6th grade year that I wasn’t using any of the correct fingerings but still playing the pitches correctly she switched me to flute. Now that I was a teacher and had access to the instruments during the summer months I decided to bring the French Horn home with me to practice and learn how to play it correctly. I also happened to have a young boy start taking summer lessons with me. I wanted to play the French Horn with him so we could learn together.

It was only our third lesson when I pulled out the French horn....OF TERROR for the first time. I didn’t realize that I had brought home the French Horn ....OF TERROR. I thought I had brought home the french horn that I had painstakingly repaired and cleaned for my use. What I didn’t know is that Tom had found my instrument and switched his for mine.

My little student “Nick” was very talented and for the first few minutes I just held my instrument not really looking at it. I had no idea what evil I festered in my hands. After a few songs Nick’s horn began to pop. This is a sign that it was time to drain the spit out. He had never been taught to do this so I spent some time showing him what to do and told him that after a few spins the spit would drain out the mouthpiece hole. Nick held his instrument above his head and began to shake it. I hollered at him. I said “Nick never ever ever hold your horn upside down above your head. All the spit will drain out onto your head and that would be gross.”

I don’t know what came over me. I knew better, but I grabbed the horn of terror and lifted it upside down above my head anyway. A lot of things happened in the next second. First as I looked up and the horn my mouth fell open( I think i was trying to be funny.) Next, I realized that this was not my horn but Tom’s. I then realized that I had never taught Tom how to empty his horn of all the spit and I bet that neither did his previous teacher. Finally, four years of nasty stinking spit and who know what else poured out of the French Horn....OF TERROR and into my mouth and down the side of my face. I ran to the sink and spit and sputtered and washed my mouth out with scalding hot water. Nick was in the dinning room yelling “I PROMISE TO NEVER PUT MY HORN ABOVE MY HEAD EVER!!! I PROMISE.”

I promise too Nick I promise too.