Rusty Trombone

My first musical instrument was a trombone. I was maybe 4 and I wanted to grow up and be in the marching band. (Early indication of what a dork i would grow up to be...) I would practice marching around the house and yard playing my trombone, swinging around like I saw the big kids do. I even got to march with the high school kids at half time once. I don't know if this trombone was rusty or not, but the slide didn't slide easily. It was either under-oiled or I was too small and weak to stretch my arm out. Anyway, that dream came to an end one day I was marching around and let the nose drop into the grass, jamming the mouthpiece into my lips! Ouch! I was driven to the hospital (over an hour away and across the state line) to get several stitches leaving 2 lumps in my not quite as talented lips that can still be seen today. And just as big a traumatic loss, I missed out on having the oh so rare soda when the carbonation burned my stitches. That is when I learned how to pout. I put down that dangerous trombone and decided I wanted to be involved in safer activities, like football! OJ Simpson became my new hero! I could run in slo-mo, spinning around defenders/living room furniture and diving into the end-zone/couch. Of all the things that I have hurt myself doing, football wasn't one of them. Later I took up the saxaphone, which I played until high school, when all band geeks had to be in marching band. My tramatic experience with marching band (and the increase in dorkdom I would be subjected to) made me quite band once and for all. Even though, I still grin when I think of 76 trombones leading the big parade.