Rhythm Challenged?

So the funny thing is...

I used to play in the high school band!

From an early age, I "pretended" to play

tin drums, trash cans

anything I could pound on,

even my younger brother's head

(when I could get away with it)

There was a deep passion for this

instrument and the act of banging on it...

was probably deeply based in my African roots

( you know, the ones I pretend to have.)

Never had the beautiful six piece

drum set

every kid dreams of owning,

parents wouldn't have the noise.

So in 7th grade I found myself

in the percussion section

at Hermantown High!

(yes, I said, Hermantown)

Some prior instruction would have been

preferred

by me, by my fellow band mates,

by the teacher.

Turns out when they pass out

the "being able to dance gift"

the "drumming gift" is also included as a bonus

(and there are probably others

in this package deal, that I haven't yet

discovered, but I am sure I will)

I had NO rhythm...

None, zero, zilch, nata!

All eyes on me, when the cymbol finale

failed to hit the right note,

time and time again.

But I pretended and pretended

I wasn't actually, "rhythm challenged"

The instructor didn't like me

and frankly had no business teaching kids.

Mean! Mean! Mean!

So much so, everyone

was too afraid to quit.

Even had to do the marching band thing,

which is sort of like dancing

while banging something,

that was REALLY sad!

Finally, when there

was a overlap in my class

schedule, I was able to escape...

Mean Mr. Band Leader and the pretense

of being able to play!

A long time collector of African drums

(again, due to my African heritage)

it seemed, they were to be admired not

necessarily played.

Cause, it was clear I couldn't!

In my living room, under a layer

of embarrasing dust were two books

given to me, six years ago,

along with a beautiful African Djembe drum

(which I had at least, lovingly kept dust free)

Gifts from a significantly wise friend.

One book was "how to play"

the other all about the "healing power" of the drum!

I decided not to muddle thru learning the specifics

(feeling Mean Mr. Band Man's presence)

and instead, discovered

a new and rich language

one without words...

like a heart beat.

...my heart beat..

all heart beats.

Began, by thinking of an emotion

and magic happened

my fingers spoke and moved and created

not musically,

but in pure sound,

poetic, spiritual, ancestrol, primal,

beautiful sound!

The voice of African gods and

anyone else who came before me

and who had beat on a drum

and found their voice,

their heart beat,

the one that simply says, "I am!"

Don't know that I will ever

pick up the "how to play" book,

but for now drumming has become a part

of my morning ritual...

my dawn song!

(thinking my neighbors

aren't too happy about this...

but what can they expect?

They are, after all

living next to a "rhythm challenged"

artist?)

Pam

Piper Rain