Winging It

Last night my son barely remembered his orchestra concert. Still wearing his baseball uniform, he jumped from the couch, checked his schedule, and hurried off to change into his tux. "I forgot my music," he said on the way to the car, "but I'll just look on someone else's."

That sounded workable, but the other bass players apparently had the same plan. When the concert started, all four of them were lined up behind empty music stands.

What do you do in that situation? Slip out the back door? Stand slackhanded and stare? Go through the motions while only pretending to play? One boy made the safe choice, moving his bow back and forth while keeping it away from the strings.

My favorite musician chose to wing it. Smiling broadly, he started with the notes he knew and improvised the rest, boldly and at full volume.

I am not sure what the director thought, but I was proud as could be. Yes, my son forgot his music. But in a situation in which I might have felt sick to my stomach, he rose to the occasion with confidence, creativity, and poise. What's more, he enjoyed it. Attaboy, kid.

Bob