Chapter 3
"Okay, let's start with the basics..." Mr. Ross said with a sigh, knowing he had his work nearly cut out for him to teach this young man to play drums well enough to play this summer in marching band, only about 2 months till the end of the school year.
"This," he started, "is a snare drum. It's what you'll soon be able to play after we get past learning about reading music, then working our way into rhythms, and other things you need to know to play it."
Chris rolled his eyes when Mr. Ross wasn't looking- if this guy were to be any cheesier, he'd be wrapped up in a deli bar by now.
For another hour and a half, Chris had worked his way into a half- baked paradiddle- not perfect, but better than where he'd started.
"Practice tomorrow sound good?" asked Mr. Ross, as Chris was about to walk out the door.
"Sure...sounds great..." Chris said, obviously very unexcited.
Mr. Ross could tell Chris wasn't exactly thrilled to be in band, "Chris, I know how you feel about joining band, but take it like this: when you'd wrestle, if you were going to win, you had to get on top of your opponent, you couldn't just sit there- you had to get in and on top of everything or you'd just get thrown down. This is very much the same. You just have to get on top of this stuff and you'll get your victories- but not until you start putting some effort into it."
Chris considered it. Somewhere in there Mr. Ross was starting to make some sense.
"Thanks Mr. Ross." Chris said (still unsure if what he'd said kicked in and helped any yet).
Chris walked out, the door shut behind him. All was quiet until he could hear his head screaming...
"ME? In BAND???"
"Okay, let's start with the basics..." Mr. Ross said with a sigh, knowing he had his work nearly cut out for him to teach this young man to play drums well enough to play this summer in marching band, only about 2 months till the end of the school year.
"This," he started, "is a snare drum. It's what you'll soon be able to play after we get past learning about reading music, then working our way into rhythms, and other things you need to know to play it."
Chris rolled his eyes when Mr. Ross wasn't looking- if this guy were to be any cheesier, he'd be wrapped up in a deli bar by now.
For another hour and a half, Chris had worked his way into a half- baked paradiddle- not perfect, but better than where he'd started.
"Practice tomorrow sound good?" asked Mr. Ross, as Chris was about to walk out the door.
"Sure...sounds great..." Chris said, obviously very unexcited.
Mr. Ross could tell Chris wasn't exactly thrilled to be in band, "Chris, I know how you feel about joining band, but take it like this: when you'd wrestle, if you were going to win, you had to get on top of your opponent, you couldn't just sit there- you had to get in and on top of everything or you'd just get thrown down. This is very much the same. You just have to get on top of this stuff and you'll get your victories- but not until you start putting some effort into it."
Chris considered it. Somewhere in there Mr. Ross was starting to make some sense.
"Thanks Mr. Ross." Chris said (still unsure if what he'd said kicked in and helped any yet).
Chris walked out, the door shut behind him. All was quiet until he could hear his head screaming...
"ME? In BAND???"