From 4th to 5th grade it was required that all children learn the flutophone (also called the "recorder" in some parts of the world). Assumably, the government knew something we didn't because there certainly was no market demand for flutophone players, in fact, to this day, I have never seen an adult play a flutophone. My best guess is that satellite photos were taken of thousands of Russian children bleating out "The Internationale" on their flutophones and we had to be prepared for that threat. Or it could be that the flutophone is the only instrument that could be purchased for a $1.50 a piece.
While several of my classmates took to the flutophone like young prodigies, I struggled with it. I take that back, as the word "struggle" implies putting in any effort, which I did not.
I didn't hate the flutophone, I was just bewildered by the entire concept of music. Most musicians claim that they were "surrounded by music while growing up." My home was the opposite, it had as much rhythm flowing through its halls as a tomb. In fact, my mother's primary argument against me getting a Nintendo was that she didn't want to hear any "Beep-Beep-Beeping".
After several embarrassing "Not Satisfactory"s on my 4th grade report card's entry for "Music" we got a new teacher for 5th grade. The new teacher lined us up and asked us to play "Ode to Joy" on our flutophones.
At this point I had two options:
1) admit to the teacher that her predecessor had failed me completely, I was hopeless at the flute and should be given a 4F when the inevitable flutophone wars began.
2) fake my way through it.
I chose option #2 and put the flutophone to my mouth, held my breath, and moved my fingers on beat (but not on the right holes, of course). The teacher said, "Wonderful, kids" and we proceeded on to the next subject.
A few days later she asked us to line up again and play. Again, I mimed my way through the little concert, nervous that I would be caught. I was convinced that she had to know that there was no music coming from my spot in line, so at the end of the song I decided to give an impromptu tooting of the only music I knew, "Shave and a Haircut. Two Bits". The kids laughed and the teacher smiled and said, "Very nice, Russell".
This was unbelievable! I had become the David Lee Roth to my Flutophone class's Van Halen. Despite having no discernable talent, I was receiving all the adulation.
The next time we were called up to play I was feeling cool and confident. I began swaying my body to the music. Tilting the flutophone up in the air during the chorus, like a New Orleans funeral marcher. My fingers were dancing across the holes. I finished by flipping the flutophone around like a baton.
I expected the teacher to throw her underwear at me after that performance but, instead, she had a cross look on her face and said, "Russell, could you please play the song all by yourself."
At this point I had two options:
1) Admit I did not know how to play and that I was only trying to participate in the only way I knew how.
2) Fake my way through it.
Once again, I took the old reliable # 2 as I tried to play a few notes and then stopped to bang my flutophone against my palm as though something was stuck in there.
"I think my flutophone is broken," I said.
"See me after class," the teacher said.
After class she told me that she had since been informed by the old teacher of my inabilty/unwillingness to play the flutophone. Before I even had a chance to concoct a story, she also told me that she had heard that, in the previous year, I had claimed to have had an inner ear problem that prevented me from playing music. She also informed me that the school nurse confirmed the impossibility of such a condition.
That year, I got another "Unsatisfactory" on my report card for Music. Too bad they didn't have grades for Fakery.
