Imperfect Utopia

Milo and C just left for all-region band tryouts, at a school in the southwestern suburbs a little over thirty minutes away. He made 3rd chair in all-city band. He’s one the first percussionists sent to all-region by his band director. He competes against 8th-graders as a 7th-grader. He and I practiced the snare piece together, but he also has to perform on marimba and timpani. He practices the marimba part on the piano with the help of his mother, and practices timpani with three practice pads laid out on his bed. Last night he asked for help with his timpani piece and I gave it a shot but truly sucked. In my defense, the last time I played timpani would have been 1992 at the latest, and the parts were not this complex. I asked him to play it and I’d help focus on any parts where he struggled. He played it through and there weren’t any such parts. His performance could have been a little more smooth, but he knew the part, he just needed a little more practice to polish it. I told him…

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