The subject of this lil’ rant is old people.

I hang around with a lot of old people. I play in bands with them and talk to them a lot. I’m used to it – my Dad was 56 when I was born and I spent almost my entire childhood hanging out with him as a senior citizen. I’m used to creaks of groans of the elderly. And throughout my life I dealt with the impending reality that old people are not long with us on this earth. I’ve learned to have a deep patience and understanding with them because soon they’ll be dead and gone.

But sometimes……..

I’ve been invited to play lead trumpet in a college jazz band. For those of you who don’t know, lead trumpet is a very demanding and precise role. If you’re off tune in the upper register (where the lead resides), it’s painful to listen to. Today was my second week. I’m a bit late. I get to the room and I find myself sitting next to a white haired man probably in his late 70s with a funny habit of saying the word “fuck” in every sentence. A salty dog if there ever was one.

Then we started playing. This man wanted to “double” with me on lead. Okay, fine. At first I was diplomatic in my playing – relaxed, trying to match his intonation. But as the time went by it got worse and worse. He played like a hyena. It was loud, out of tune, and generally the wrong note.

When you’re trying to be precise in tone and attack and the guy next to you is blowing louder and about 30 cents flat – you’re ready to put your horn away. Stuff like that exhausts you and makes it almost impossible to perform.

Then he tells me about his story about playing in the so-and-so band (actually a recognizable name, but I’ll leave it anonymous) and I’m thinking… yeah right!

Again, some level of patience must be given to the elderly. I don’t know how I will behave at that age -loosing my physical abilities and coordination. Will I try to capture the old glory days by forcing my terrible tone on others – especially capable players.

But it’s not all about the age. My mentor was 67 when he passed away and he was still blowing as strong as anybody.

There must be a dignified way of letting the next generation carry on when you reach that age. Some guys manage it I suppose. Some don’t. When you’re screeching the wrong note in my left ear… maybe you haven’t found that way quite yet.

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