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My mom asked (see: forced) me to go to my cousins fifth grade choir concert. I hate these, as not only do I have to be around young children (shudder) I must do so while listening to sub-par songs sung by them. However, he's my only first cousin, and it's hard to think of a good excuse to ditch it.

Now, being in band, I'm more or less immune to the worst effects of school concerts, but it only got worse. As we entered I saw something so horrible I could scarcely believe it. There was a group of children sitting behind music stands holding recorders. Yes, the medeival ancestor of the flute, an instrument which I am on slightly better terms with it. My cousin, impoverished yet clever kid that he is, was the only one with a plastic recorder, the rest were wooden. Still, whatever the substance, they were still recorders played by fifth graders. A selection of the songs included 'Indian Dance', 'Hot Cross Buns', and five songs which the students had written themselves. All together they would be playing 13 numbers before the singing would begin. As we sat listening to the students get in their last few minutes of practice the temperature of the room rose with the body heat of proud parents and uninterested siblings (and a cousin). It was then I realized that I had landed in Hell.

"I hate you so much right now," I whispered to my mom.
"He goes to all of your things," She replied. It was true, he did come to most of the school plays.
"Yeah, but I don't even ask you guys to come," I didn't. I always thought it was a little embarrasing that my whole extended family came to a play when I only had a handfull of lines.
"I got you a car,"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be quiet."

It actually wasn't too bad, not good by a long shot, but less hellish than I had imagined it would be. The kids only knew four notes on the recorder though, but I guess that they weren't given enough class time in which to study it seriously.

Until next time! ~Ginn