There is a Tavern in the Town

When I was 5 years old, my mom wanted me to be a musician !!  To that end, she purchased an organ and enrolled me in the Yahama School of Music.  

The organ, is case you don't know, is one of the most difficult instruments to play.  Your right hand operates the treble keys and essentially plays the melody.  Your left hand operates the bass keys and plays mostly chords.  Your left foot operates the pedals which is a whole keyboard all of itself operated by the foot.  Your right foot operates the volume pedal so you can increase and decrease at whatever speed you want to add drama and effect.  Four limbs moving simultaneously at once.  Very difficult.  

But, any good organist knows that the secret to mastering the organ is your top secret, one of a kind, individualized registration.  It is your recipe or formula that you come up to set the stops.  Allowing the same song to sound different depending on the organist.  Your top secret, one of a kind, individualized registration is so secret that you don't even know it.  You write in on the back cover of your music book.  After you have set your tabs, you return to your sheet music.  

When I first starting taking organ lessons, I couldn't play the pedals largely because my feet couldn't reach them.  The first year was largely music appreciation.  Our parents had to attend our Saturday lessons at 9:30 am in order to reinforce our learning at home.  My mom hadn't read that fine print and wasn't impressed.  She became even more determined to make me a musician.  I mastered only one thing during the first year.  Our teacher would play and sing, "Shelley Ireland, are you here?"  I mastered playing back and singing, "Yes, Mrs. Cooper, I am here."  My mother mastered the Mexican Hat Dance.  There was a father in attendance that used to bring his four sons in every week from McCreary.  The dad was very keen.  My mom couldn't outsing him but she wasn't going to finish second to him in the Mexican Hat Dance.  That was my class the first year, me and that 4 boys from McCreary.  

That was the only year my mom attended with me.  In order to be a good organist, my mother was told that I needed to practice an hour every day.  Some children just have a natural inclination and practice more than that.  That wasn't me.  I practiced to the letter of the law and not one more minute than I had to.  

Whenever I practiced the organ, my father always had the same request, "can you please play Far Far Away?"  I looked but I never found the mustic to that song.  

Finally, when I was 8 years old, I was going to be in my first music festival.  I would be playing, "There is a Tavern in the Town".  It was a big deal.  My mom got me a new dress,  My dad took the afternoon off work, and I got to miss half a day of school.  We were all excited.  

Then, we got to the Allied Arts Centre and looked at the program.  49 - 8 years olds were on the program and we were all playing "There is a Tavern in the Town."  I was number 42.  My father looked at the program and he said, "My beautiful princess.  You are so shy and uncomfortable in crowds, why I wouldn't blame you if you ran out of this auditorium forcing your mother and I to run after you never to return again."  It's ok, dad, I really want to do this.  My father didn't seem happy.  My mom went out to smoke a cigarette.  She didn't come back until it was my turn and she was carrying a bag from "The Fashion Shoppe".  

Between every performance of "There is a Tavern in the Town", the adjudicator seemed to look at the ceiling and appeared to be praying.  

Despite the top secret, one of a kind, individualized arrangement, when you have heard 5 - 8 year old versions of "There is a Tavern in the Town" on the organ, you have really heard them all.  And, when you have heard 10 - 8 year old versions of "There is a Tavern in the Town" on the organ, you have 39 more to listen to.  

My dad was so worried about my self esteem that he kept reassuring me that it would be alright if we left, but I told him that I was staying.  He seemed disappointed, but then, I was nervous so it was hard to read him.  

It was finally my turn to take to the stage.  I proudly marched up with my music book and turned to the back cover to enter in my top secret, one-of-a-kind, individualized registration.  I took a deep breathe in and started to play "There is a tavern in the town, in the town" and that was all that I had memorized so I looked up at my music, and there was no music!  Only my top-secret, one of a kind, individualized registration.  I was devastated.  I looked at the adjudicator and explained what happened and asked if I could start again.  He gave me a look that said, "I could care less".  I took that as a yes.  I turned to my music.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad grab my mom's purse so she couldn't go out for another smoke.  

I took in another deep breathe and I played "There is a Taven in the Town" for all that I was worth. 

I didn't exhale until I was back in my seat.  My father said "my beautiful princess, you must be entirely embarrassed and humiliated.  Well, I wouldn't blame you if you ran out of this auditorium forcing your mother and I to run after you, never to return again."  It's ok, dad, I'll stay.  

At the end, the entire Allied Arts Centre let out a collective gasp when I won.  I won a trophy.  Since I have had such few achievements in my life, I have often reflected on that win and the reasons why.  

Is it because I showed grace under pressure and in the face of adversity?  No, that wasn't it.  

Is it because I provided some comic relief and just distinguished myself out of the crowd?  No, that wasn't it.  

The truth is I won that trophy because I was just that good.  

Because I won in such a large field, I was invited to the high-lights concert at the DRCSS.  It was my first time in the high school.  When I looked at the program, I told my father that I was so shy and introverted and wanted to run out of the auditorium forcing him and my mother to run after me never to return again.  My dad said I was doing no such thing, this was the high-light concert after all.  I was performing the most simple piece of music.  I was embarrassed but I'm glad I stayed.  There were real musicians there.  It was that night that I truly developed a love of music and experienced its power.  

My mother was so excited about my win that she traded in my organ for the most top-of-the line organ at the time.  It took up half our living room.  I never won another music festival.  

I didn't shed any tears when the Yamaha Music School closed down.  Then, it re-opened in the Cooper's basement.  Then, it closed again.  My mom found me a teacher who could give me private lessons in her home.  (I guess she never forgave me for the Mexican Hat Dance.)  I was a horrible organist and I had no motivation to practice.  Finally, when I was about to enter Grade 12, my music teacher told my mom that she could no longer ethically take her money and I was taking a spot that someone else could have.  

My father basked in the glory of my "There is a Tavern in the Town" victory for the rest of his life and made me play it whenever we had company.  It was alright for a few years but by the time I was 25 it was pretty embarrassing.  

My mother made another attempt to make a musician when I was in Junior High.  She enrolled me in coronet lessons.  Another instrument that no one has heard of.  

I never became a musician but I did master Ave Maria on the organ so that is something.  Unfortunately, there is a limited market where this skill is transferable.  

Even though I didn't fulfill my mother's dream of becoming a musician, I did develop a great appreciation of the dedication that goes into becoming one.  Also, I've been able to say with a straight face |that I've pumped more than a few organs in my time."