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| Petty Officer Languedoc Prepares to Sound Taps |
A few years ago my son, Aidan, played trumpet in the school jazz band. On his third year of middle school, he was lucky to have four strong musicians in his section. The band director usually had senior members of the group teach junior members as part of each student's development. Not only were Aidan's colleagues great trumpeters, they were also mature young adults who pulled Aidan up to their level. It was an all round great experience for my son.
The jazz band is not your normal middle school ensemble. It is an audition only endeavor that reigns in the best musicians from the student body. Some of the kids are extraordinarily talented. The band often takes on difficult jazz pieces considered high school, even college level charts. In the last year of middle school, Aidan was expected to mentor new members, an experience he looked forward to.
Half the band changed out and unfortunately for Aidan, one of the new trumpet players, Bryson, who Aidan was expected to mentor, was both a mediocre musician and a bit arrogant. Bryson would get lost during most performances, and Aidan thought he would help him with that first. Bryson informed Aidan that he knew all there was to know about the trumpet and had nothing else to learn. I told Aidan that it was his job to help Bryson understand that no one knows it all, and that it's highly likely that his education was in front, not behind him. In retrospect Bryson was well beyond Aidan's influence. Before long, Bryson's middle school vitriol focused on my son.
It started with some of the oddest criticism. Aidan had auditioned for a state level orchestral band that was very competitive and difficult to get into. He made it along with seven other students from his school. Most middle schools have only one musician who is accepted, but the music director at Aidan's school had high expectations, and that led to high achievement. Bryson didn't audition. Upon learning that Aidan was accepted, he told Aidan with a laugh,
"Now, you have to learn more music."
On the bus ride back from a concert, Bryson organized a vote among the band members to decide if Aidan should be ejected from the jazz band. Unfortunately, most of the senior musicians were not on the bus so a bunch of novices voted out the only experienced member present. Aidan was quiet that night. He eventually told us what happened. Instead of being angry, he was disappointed in himself. He said,
"I' can't teach him anything."
When middle schoolers are in a group, they all lean towards the lowest form of behavior. Rallying the crowd against someone gives them all a sense of power. There is no equivalent for this misguided behavior in the adult world. Bullying is a middle school phenomena that ironically makes students feel empowered, but in reality they're exercising their immaturity. Aidan's music instructor is a renowned trumpet player. He often imparts grandfatherly advice. When Aidan asked him what he should do, he said,
"Sometimes, all you have to work with is the threads on the back of the tapestry."
Aidan tried to make sense of this, but he was too preoccupied with the immediate situation to think it through. Historically, the concert we had just attended was the event when the music director would point out all the kids who made it into the regional band. For whatever reason, he didn't do it this year. He chose to focus on the achievements of his fellow teachers. Overlooking the students who were actually performing that night was a real misstep. The bus ride home, which included the ostracizing vote, topped off Aidan's night of misery. I was hoping the next performance at a local retirement facility would be better.
The concert went off without a hitch. The audience was mostly retirees. Some danced stylishly to the jazz tunes. At the end of the concert, the band director took the microphone and announced all the students by name who got into the regional orchestra. The crowd applauded vigorously. He also pointed out what an honor and how difficult an achievement it is to get in. As he finished and the applause dissipated, he added one last comment.
"One of our students is the second youngest bugler in Bugles Across America."
Aidan had long wanted to perform Taps at military funerals after reading an article about the nationwide shortage of competent musicians needed to honor veterans. He read about Bugles Across America (BAA), an organization that provides buglers for veteran services. He learned Taps and other bugle calls on his own. We travelled to an outdoor park in the fall to meet our state BAA director where Aidan auditioned in front of a group of people, enjoying the park. I listened to Aidan play from a distance as a small crowd gathered. When I saw that he and the director were talking, I approached. We learned together that he had made it. It was one of those moments of pride that a parent gets to experience which is unmatched by anything else in life. Afterwards, Aidan joined the Naval Sea Cadets so he could sound Taps in uniform.
Now, he was being singled out in front of what surely was a room full of veterans. The band director continued,
"Taps is played on a bugle, so no valves. It's done all with breath control. Breath for the pitches, breath for duration."
An elderly gentleman asked emphatically,
"Can he play it right now?"
Taps at services must be rendered away from everyone. You're supposed to hear it as if played from a distance which is why the bugler does not stand with the color guard. The bugler is allowed to play the first and last notes for volume only. They're not allowed to practice at the site. They have to stand alone then deliver the twenty-four notes when the time comes. This is how Aidan is trained. So when asked, he picked up his trumpet then moved away from the rest of the band.
The crowd grew quiet as he began playing. I closed my eyes and listened to the notes fill the room. When Aidan finished, the silence was broken by the gentle sound of weeping. I opened my eyes. An elderly woman to my right was quietly crying into her hands. Several veterans were standing with their hands on their hearts. Others stood at attention and saluted. Aidan returned his trumpet to his side with military precision, then something happened that was unexpected. The crowd began to move forward. First, the people who were standing, then others rose solemnly and joined the procession making their way to my son.
When the first man reached Aidan, he outstretched his arm. Aidan and the man shook hands. The man said nothing. He didn't have to. You could see what he wanted to say on his face. Another man took Aidan's hand once it was free. A woman reached Aidan and told him that it brought back memories of her father. Still another gentlemen said that Aidan had returned him to a time when his son had played Taps almost fifty years ago at a summer camp. As the crowd receded, the applause flooded the space.
Aidan remained composed and respectful through the entire event. He later told me that he witnessed the elderly gentlemen slowly rising to their feet, one by one, as he played the twenty-four notes flawlessly. His band members rallied around him in congratulations. Two days earlier, the threads of the tapestry seemed to be so tangled. And on this night, one in which few in attendance will soon forget, Aidan played Taps and brought a room full of people back to a time when they remembered their family and friends. And I finally understood what his music instructor meant.
You work with what you have even if that is the discarded threads on the back of the tapestry, and sometimes that makes the best weave.
Editors Note: Originally posted on January 3, 2017. Aidan is a high school junior who plays trumpet in the school jazz band. He has sounded Taps in uniform for over 40 military events. Auditioning each year, he was selected four times for the Connecticut Eastern Regional Band.
