One word múinteoir, why?
I wasted many years of my life in primary school furiously learning songs on the recorder, an instrument I have never played since finishing sixth class.
To be honest despite the fact that just about everyone who went to school in Ireland learned the recorder or tin whistle I’ve yet to be at a house party where someone whips one out of their pocket and starts playing Wonderwall.
Last week my son came bounding in the door so excited to show me something that he had learned at school and then slowly but surely produced a tin whistle from his school bag… and now I need to start my life again in a new country.
It may sound extreme but since the tin whistle came home it’s been Hot Cross Buns day in and day out, particularly when I’m around.
I don’t know what sort of tin whistle attracting aura around me but my son who is usually a daddy’s boy has become obsessed with showing me his progress on said tin whistle.
Trying to be supportive of course I sit there and listen to him and tell him that it sounds great. It actually sounds closer to a cat screeching but I don’t want to be the one to kill his dream of becoming a professional tin whistler.
But seriously teacher I thought we were friends?
You do have to wonder sometimes what you did in a past life to deserve these things as a parent.
The nights when they tell you last minute that have to bring in a homemade volcano to school the following day.
The days they ask you to help with math homework you haven’t a clue how to do.
And of course when they rock up home with a tin whistle.
The only thing giving me some solace is that some day he will have to deal with this from his own child. And oh how I will laugh.
