Chapter Nine

I was resting on the couch after my crazy day for all of five minutes when the mister came home from work. I had IMed him earlier about my "idea" for my one and half minute choreography final. In hindsight, just to be funny, I should have said something to the effect of "How would you like to experience the sound of the didge in an old gymnasium? Lots of echo in there...bet it would sound better than when you didge in the bathroom..." It didnt matter, he sounded game for the idea. In fact, the mister no sooner sat his things down on the floor when he walked towards his didgeridoo.

"So, I take it you liked the idea?" I asked rhetorically.

"Yeah! How about a didge solo? No drum?!" He says enthusiastically. His face was lit up like a little kid who just noticed all the presents under the christmas tree.

"Well, um, no, I really wanted the drum."

"Well, ok, I'll just drone for a minute and a half?" he inquired.

"I was kind of hoping you'd throw in some pops and whirl sounds in there," I replied.

"Ah so something like this..."

And he started going whiiiirrreeeeerrrrr whiiiirrrreeeerrrr brrrrrroottt! brroooottt!!! with his didgeridoo at a morbidly slow tempo.

"A little faster, please, if you could," I requested.

"I was thinking of something nice and slow."

"Um, well, I can't dance to that, it's just WAY tooo slow. Look, I'm supposed to use the moves I'm learning to choreograph. I can't hold poses that long, at the tempo you're doing this." I called to the boy (our son) and asked him to get his drum out. Unfortuneately, he was entranced by the television and non-responsive.

"Well, I could DRUM AND DIDGE! That'd be WAY cool!" the mister said with even more enthusiasm than before. I cringed and tried to think quickly of a way to be diplomatic, but alas I was too slow. He retrieved the boy's drum, situated himself on a kitchen chair and put his didgeridoo up to his mouth and proceded to accompany himself with one hand making this sad little rhythm that would make my prof look like a virtuoso on the drum.

"No, no, no, no, nooooooooooooooo...." I whined. He laughed ornerily, knowing he was being a twerp and messing with my poor little head.

"No?" he asked between chuckles, "You don't like that? Let me try it again?" And he proceded to play it another time, just to make me crazy. "I think that sounds GREAT! What do you mean you can't dance to this?" By this point he had cracked himself up, and couldn't stop laughing.

I called to the boy again, this time with more desperation in my voice.

"Huh? Whaaa? I mean, Coming Mama!" he broke out of his trance.

"Can you PLEASE play the drum, please please please?" I begged.

The boy started to laugh, used to this playful bantering between his father and I. "What's the matter, Mama?" He asked snickering "Daddy's not playing it right?"

"Ok son," the mister began, "I'll start and you come along, alrighty? 1-2-3-4..." and the kitchen filled with the sound of didge and our son pitifully playing along on the drum.

"Whoa! What was that?" I asked the boy. "You play a lot better than that usually...play your usual stuff. Not this."

The boy defended himself "Well, daddy started out so slow this is the only rhythm I can play with it."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "You start, and DADDY will follow YOU." I turned to glare at the mister who was just still laughing at me.

The boy began playing his usual beat at his usual speed and his father joined in, when suddenly, the mister said, "Wait son, slow it down."

"No," I retorted, now getting frustrated. At first this was amusing and funny, suddenly I found myself annoyed. "I want it that speed. Why do you keep wanting to slow it down? I know what I have to do, and while it won't look great, I gotta have it at this pace. This is the tempo I had in my head."

The mister made a rather valid counterpoint, "Yes, but he cant play soft AND fast. His speed and volume are inexplicably linked"

The boy made a counterpoint to his father's counterpoint by playing soft and fast, smirking the entire time as if to say "See, I can...pbbbthhthththhththththhhhhhhhhhhht!" He was watching this whole conversation unfold with great amusment.

"But why on earth do you want it soft? I want it to be played the volume he always plays. It's not too loud." I continued to question the mister.

"Well, you can't hear the didge!" He said, trying to protest, but to no avail because he couldnt stop giggling.

"I never intended to hear the didge. In this case, I want the the didge to be an accompanying instrument to the drum. At first I only wanted the drum, and I was only going to bring him to class," I pointed at my son who was trying so hard at this point to keep his face straight and not bust out laughing. I was fighting as well to keep a straight face because this conversation was just rediculous. I continued, "then I thought, hmmm...didgeridoo would be cool too...to have this low bass rrrrrrrrmmmmmmmm sound underneath the drum."

The mister threw his head back and did his signature cackle starting to really crack up. As he caught his breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, he replied, "Ohhhhhhh. Well, I still think it should be a didge solo."

I walked over behind him, kissed his forehead, and said "Well, maybe we can work a didge solo into it after all, you know, we can have the drum stop completely." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. "Besides," I added, "We have till the end of November to work on this and practice" which will be here before we know it...sigh.