Posted by: Sam Olsen | August 30, 2011

The Chronicles of Larry II. Music Man.

Sheesh, what a week. Not a moment’s rest. Up and about the entire time. Mum and Dad – or just They – are always taking me out, making me do things. Sometimes a boy just wants to play and destroy household ornaments. Especially the expensive ones that make Mum shout a bit.

Just got back from music class. They seem to think I’m some kind of musician. Probably want me to do a Mozart, or Justin Bieber or something. Fat chance, not with this mind. Me, I’m going to be the next John Bonham, aka Animal, Led Zeppelin’s drummer, although without the vodka pints. Smash my timbers.

So we’re in music: me, They, and the teacher – another high-pitched China doll; don’t know where Dad finds them; he says coincidence, I say even fatter chance – gets this drum out. I know what Animal would want me to do. Except there’s this kid in the way. But she’s only small. Her head could be a drum too so I tap it. Only gently though. She cries. (That’s the second one this week. The other day a three-year old ran off when she saw me strutting my crawling stuff, so of course I followed. Turns out she didn’t like this. Hiding under skirts can only protect you for so long, not like a strong room or something. She cried too, loudly. Dad went red. Amusing.)

The drum’s there, the girl’s out the way, my hands are primed, teacher says stop, I go. Man these drums are loud. And I’m the only one on them. Teacher again says stop. I still go. Mum watches Dad grab me. I pretend to stop, then when he lets me near them again, I hit the hell out of them. Teacher says stop once more. I keep going. This is good. I could do this all day. Mum looks like she does when I’m back with her ornaments. Dad’s still red.

Teacher has had enough. She gets one of the other boys to roll the drum away. Not fair. Just because he can walk. I could if I wanted. Small plastic bricks are given out. Shake them and they rattle. Eat them and you choke. Ask the boy next to me. He had to be shown how. He’s gone home now. His Dad said something like “You’ll be hearing from me” but he doesn’t look like no musician either so not sure how.  Teacher changes activity again. She puts her iPod on and out come some funky tunes. No heavy guitar but it will do. Mum holds me, says I should dance a bit. Teacher’s going wild, jerking all over the shop; thinks she’s in Car Wash the movie or something. Either that or she licked the plug again. I prefer to watch her rather than shape my own moves. Dad’s watching too. Funny that.

Sing time. I see on the wall they’ve got the lyrics to Stayin’ Alive. Those lyrics rock. They’re me all over. But guess what? We’re not singing that. Oh no. It’s some song about “One foot, other foot”. Someone says it’s about walking. Sounds more like an orthopaedic shoe fitting to me. I stay silent. Mum is forced to sing on my behalf. Now the other parents stare.

Teacher’s exhausted. I’m still fuming. Then the drum comes out so I bash it to pieces. Literally. Dad asks how much. Teacher says she’s not for sale. Mum says it’s time to go. John Bonham would be proud.

Tastes good


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: