A Late, Late Lesson in Humility

If you have ever been the least bit unkind to another person, then you will know why I feel regret about my part in this story...

In high school, back somewhere around the Middle Ages, I played Alto Saxophone in the high school band.  If you are already saying"geek" silently to yourself, get in line - the whole cohort of my Grade 13 (yes, boys and girls, I'm THAT old!), graduating class would heartily agree with you, as I learned at a reunion a couple of years ago :-)

But I digress...

So right from the first week of junior band, I played the "Ist Alto"part and kept on playing it until the day I left university - in my last year of high school and my last 2 years of university, I was the "Section Chair".  For 26 years after that, I always felt a singular pride when I harkened back to those glory days of musicality, awing myself with the memories of my brilliant tone, nimble fingers, near perfect pitch, and delicate embature (a fancy word for the way your mouth holds the mouthpiece and connects with the reed).  Many times have I thought about the pinnacle of my young success - playing "1st Alto" in the pit band for the University of Waterloo music and drama department's production of Cabaret.

Are you feeling nauseous yet?  I am not proud of these memories of adolescent arrogance and, in fact, have recently been experiencing something that has been such a life lesson.  First of all, I thought back to why I chose the saxophone.  It wasn't because I loved jazz or swing or big band - it was simply because I was LAZY.  I had been playing in a baroque recorder ensemble for 2 years and knew that the saxophone has exactly the same fingering and required similar breath control - and you know what they say - if it ain't baroque don't fix it (very worn and lame musician humour).  I had also taken piano lessons for several years and had completed 2 levels of Royal Conservatory Theory.  Clearly, I had a leg up.

Back in the Middle Ages (1975-1980), we high school students took 8 courses all year.  So every single school day for 5 years, I had Music.  And for every one of those days, Dennis sat beside me, playing "2nd Alto".  Now if musicians are honest, they will admit that every part of a band or orchestra is equally important to the overall sound.  But, those of us who play the "1st" parts always harbour a distinct sense of superiority, even if we keep it to ourselves, and trust me, we never do. 

So fast forward to now.  I am still a geek, and still playing Alto Sax in a community band.  But horror of horrors, I am playing the "2nd Alto" part.  It is a tough, tough part for me to play - I have never developed as warm a sound playing the lower notes, and honestly, I feel like I am playing "2nd fiddle".  This is where I have finally learned some serious humility.  For those 5 years that Dennis sat beside me, I pointed out his every wrong note, every missed accidental, every missed key change, every squawking of a middle C.  And now I am reaping what I then sowed.  35 years after Dennis and I first teamed up, I am learning what it must have been like to take the constant criticism (it doesn't help me at all to think that I was genuinely trying to be helpful).

I finally realize that Dennis knew perfectly well when he made an error.  And yet, every day for 5 years, he came to class and to practice with a smile on his face. He was in band in spite of me because he loved it. The saddest thing is that I can't apologize to him and thank him for the example he set, not even on Facebook, because he died more than decade ago.

To seal this lesson, a few weeks ago, I was the only Sax player at band practice and I got to play the "1st Alto" part.  What a glorious night I thought I had - playing the part I am accustomed to and soaring with a sound that has escaped me on "2nd" for the past 5 years.  This reverie continued as I hopped onto the elevator with one of our euphonium players.  He brilliantly, and unknowingly, burst my bubble by saying:  "Hey, you played great tonight (ah, he noticed, thought I) - thanks for coming out when our own Saxes couldn't make it"!

This is a tale that will serve as a reminder for me about getting too big for my britches.  Do you secretly think you are just a wee bit better than someone else, or is there someone out there to whom you haven't always extended your utmost kindness?  Think about it, and think about how you might make a few amends while you have the chance...

"Classic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment.  If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing.  ROLLING IN THE MUCK IS NOT THE BEST WAY OF GETTING CLEAN."

Aldous Huxley