“A head full of fears has no space for dreams.” – unknown
I can’t get Miss O to put down the guitar. I know that’s a funny thought – why would I want to?
Here’s the situation. My nine-year-old daughter, Miss O, has a gift for music. She has nearly perfect pitch so that if she hears something, she can play it. And she’s learned piano from my mom, ukelele from YouTube videos, started clarinet in the school band, and also sings in a choir.
She’s practiced these things, and my mom has been a fantastic teacher, but mostly she has enough natural ability that she makes it look easy.
All good – until Mr. D wanted to learn to play the guitar. We have a little one that we picked up at a garage sale that was missing three strings. I ordered some replacement strings and voila, Mr. D had an instrument that he could carry around and try.
He’s not really wanting to formally learn anything quite yet. He’s five years old. But he likes putting the strap around his neck and strumming. I found a chord on YouTube and went to show it to him – he didn’t want to do it. But Miss O was standing right there and said, “Can I do it?”
Of course, she picked it up easily. So I asked her not to play the guitar. To give her younger brother some space so he can have a thing that is his own. She nodded her agreement – and then by 30 minutes later had circled back to try to play it.
So I gave her a longer explanation about why that can be discouraging to her brother. She gave it a rest for about a half a day.
When I found her with it at the end of the next day, I started again tiredly. She yelled, “So I can never pick it up and strum it?” And because nuance didn’t seem to be working, I said emphatically, “Yes!” and she angrily stomped off.
At bedtime, I told the kids the story about when Mr. D was 2-years-old and had the cutest little Hawaiian shirt. I dressed him in it every time we went to a party and everyone oohed and aahed, “What a cute baby!”
So Miss O said to me, “I hate it when he wears that shirt. He gets so much attention.” I explained that what I did to help wasn’t to get her the same shirt – or buy them both a new outfit that matched each other. I helped her find a new dress and shoes so she could feel good about what she was wearing – on the inside –even if she didn’t get all the compliments the baby did.
I summed it up that sometimes we just need to give each other space. That competing or comparing, especially over time, can often undercut someone’s confidence.
I must have flubbed the ending. Because at the end of the story, Mr. D wanted that shirt and Miss O said, “I knew I wasn’t going to like that story.“
I left the bedroom with two grumpy kids still pouting. I was frustrated because I couldn’t fix it. It struck me that we were all too close on this one – perhaps telling the story when we were all together wasn’t the right timing. Or that we just needed some time. Or that bedtime wasn’t a good time to tackle this. All of the above, I suspect.
And that is why my guitar gently weeps. From under the couch where I hid it.
Surprised By Joy 