One late summer evening when I was ten years old, my parents drove me into downtown Burlington, Vermont to Preston’s music store in order to purchase a flute. For reasons I can’t remember, at the time I wanted to learn to play the flute more than anything else, but when the salesman opened that thin black case and showed me the beautiful silver pipe with more keys than I ever thought I’d be able to use, I had no idea the magic that woodwind instrument contained. No young wizard entering Ollivander’s for the first time ever made a more magical purchase than my parents made for me that night.
As in awe of my new flute as I was, I was unaware of the magic contained within. I began to see it fairly soon, though. The first magic it unleashed was magic of the heart. When I went to my first lesson at the start of my fifth grade year, my eyes were drawn to a brown eyed brunette named Betsy. I had crushes before, but not like this. I was just a kid when I had my other crushes, but now I was 10; I was in double digits! Because of my flute, I would get to spend an hour a week in a room with no one else but beautiful, brown-eyed Betsy (except Mr. Dean, our music teacher of course).
But I was soon to learn that it contained dark magic, too. A couple months into the school year, my flute crushed my heart like a piece of chalk. Betsy and I were again in the music room having our lesson when the school secretary came in with a new student who was getting a tour. The boy’s name was Guy (How lacking in imagination must parents be to name a guy “Guy”. I bet their dog was named “Dog” too.) After the secretary left with the new guy, Betsy – brown eyes twinkling in a way they never did when she looked at me - went straight Mr. Dean and asked, in a classic ’tween girl giggle, “Do you know if the new boy will be in my homeroom?” Unrequited love enveloped my heart for the first time, and it was dark magic indeed.
Then, in junior high, I was invited to play flute in a state-wide junior high music festival. Several of us from the school band were invited to this all day event culminating in a public concert in the evening. My magical woodwind worked its next wonder. I met another kid from my school named Richie. I never knew him before, but we rode the bus together, spent breaks together, and found we could make each other laugh constantly. We became friends through high school, and the magic of humor was always a big part of that friendship.
In high school, my magic flute allowed me to go to every home football game for free as part of the pep band. Some of its best magic during my high school years came on an orchestra exchange trip to Medfield, Massachusetts during my junior year. My school and the Medfield high school were going to play a combined concert in their city, then two weeks later they were to come to Essex Junction, Vermont and we’d do it again at home. I was sitting in the back of the school bus with my best friend, Don, a violinist in the orchestra, but a bluegrass fiddler at heart. Two freshmen girls came and sat right across the aisle from us. At the time, I thought they were drawn to us because I already had taken my three tennis balls out of my backpack and was juggling, but now that I understand the bewitching power of my flute, I know it was working behind the scenes to bring these young girls our way. One was a cute little blonde named Jane Stewart. I learned how to flirt on that ride to Massachusetts, and as we boarded the bus to go back north two days later, Jane was saving a seat for me… with no thought whatever of saving a place for my buddy Don! It doesn’t get much better than that.
Like all magic, my musical mojo could be unpredictable and controversial. After three years of playing in my high school’s basketball program, my flute led me to audition for the special orchestra for the high school’s production of “Annie Get Your Gun” rather than play varsity ball senior year. I have made a few decisions in my life that flew in the face of conventional wisdom, and this may have been the first one. Our basketball team actually was the state champs that year, but I still never regretted following my magical flute.
After high school, the flute spent more time collecting dust on a shelf than making music or magic. Like Robin Williams playing a middle aged Peter Pan in Steven Spielberg’s “Hook”, I began to forget the wonder of the magic I once knew. But the magic was still there, contained in a thin black case.
After college, I found myself teaching in South Carolina. Carolina thunderstorms sprang up often in the summer, and George W’s shock-and-awe had nothing on the explosions and blinding flashes of these storms. One of these storms woke me in the middle of the night shortly after my spiritual-awakening-rebirth-conversion or whatever you call it when a kid who grew up in church finally surrenders to the God he heard about his whole life. I had heard that praising God can help us overcome fears, and I once again opened the case of my flute. It was a little tarnished now, and some of the keys stuck, but it still had its magic. I began playing hymns against the crashing thunder, and the songs of praise pushed back against the storm and calmed the storm of fear in my spirit as well.
Shortly after this, I moved back to Maine. Before leaving South Carolina, I sold my flute to Yoseph, my neighbor and music teacher at the school where I had taught. The last time I saw my magic flute, Yoseph had brought it to Maine on the occasion of Sue and my wedding. He was my best man, and he also played “If” by the band Bread on my flute for our first dance as a married couple. Now that was pure magic.
Last year as a fifth grader, our daughter Rose began to take lessons on a flute loaned to her by her cousin, Lindsey. Last night, Rose was part of the Maine District 2 elementary school band concert at the Lewiston Middle School. Chosen by their band directors, kids from schools all over southern Maine spent the day together rehearsing, and the day culminated in a public concert.
When we met up with her after the concert she was gushing.
“The conductor plays for the Bangor Symphony! She’s probably the coolest clarinet player ever.” (I didn’t spoil the magic by saying that’s probably not a huge accomplishment. Of course, I’m biased as clarinetists and flautists are like the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s of school band subculture.)
“Isaac and I got lost going to the cafeteria and had to wander all over the school.” (Sure you got lost. And Jane Stewart and I spent the bus ride home discussing John Phillip Sousa.)
“I learned more today than in all my lessons combined.”
“The ride here was soooo funny.”
“I never knew what it would like to play with such a big group.”
“I’m definitely auditioning for the middle school festival next year. I know I can make it.”
It appears that Rose has been brought under the spell of the flute, too. She has no idea the power of this spell, but I hope she loves every minute of the magic.