Freedom to Have a Little Fun

An oldie, but relevant

It was past 11:00 and ten below by the time we got home last night, the sky big and clear and shot through with a confetti of stars. We’d been at a concert, though to call it a concert is to do the experience a grave injustice. All I can say is that if ever you have a chance to see these fellas, do not, under any circumstances, pass it by. We have borne witness to their escapades a half-dozen times now, and it has never been anything but a raucous affirmation of all that is good and joyous in the human soul. Indeed, we are actually scheming to bring them to the homestead this summer, and when/if such a thing comes to pass, I will surely announce it here.

Fin and Rye were the only children in attendance, which I suppose makes sense, given that most young’uns had long ago been tucked into bed by the time the last notes from Son Sanderson’s sousaphone had parted the airwaves with their baritone passage. We take the boys to a fair bit of late night music, in part because Penny and I like to partake of a fair bit of late night music ourselves, but also in part because of their affinity for it. The flexibility to stay out until nearly midnight on a Tuesday is one of the great privileges of determining our own educational path. There is no bus to catch the next morning. There is no cause for worry that our boys will not be well rested for school. There is no need to deprive them of experiences like the one they had last night. 

We are not a particularly musical family, though we listen to music frequently. Fin and I both play guitar in a noncommittal fashion. Rye took banjo lessons for a while, but it didn’t really stick. Penny has talked of learning the harmonica, but between making pack baskets, buckskin shoes, and beaver liver pate, it hasn’t quite risen to the top of her priorities. During the periods that Fin and Rye have taken lessons, we have never required that the boys practice their instruments, though I must admit there are times we considered it. But as it stands, in the absence of studied learning, they might best be described as happy musical dabblers. 

Watching them last night, rapt for two-plus hours and afterward full of glee and anticipation for the next show (the first words out of Rye’s mouth as we left were “When can we do this again?” ), I felt as if our decision to grant our sons the autonomy to determine their own musical paths was affirmed. Their joy was unmistakable, and while I cannot say with any certainty that their joy would have been diminished if we’d cajoled and compelled them into practicing their instruments over all these years, I am glad we have not risked turning their relationship to music into work.

My point is not so much about music, really, and what is or is not the proper path for any given child. Rather, my point is this: First, get yourself to a Sheesham and Lotus and Son show pronto. It is guaranteed to open your heart, no deep knee bends required. 

And second, consider for a moment if joyful dabbling – not merely in music, but in all aspects of learning -might, in some cases at least, be a greater thing than enforced expertise. True, no one gets awards for being the most joyful dabbler, and you won’t be granted the swell of pride that comes of having your son or daughter showered with accolades and recognition.

But here’s a little a secret for ya: Most kids don’t really want these things, anyway, and if we think otherwise, it is merely a reflection of our own needs projected onto our children, who themselves pretty much want only one thing. The freedom to have a little fun.