When I Grow Up

I remember my mother taking me to a jazz concert when I was ten. I really had no interest in listening to her ‘old person’ music, but my mother always insisted on introducing me to new things, especially at a young age. I sat in the theater chair and waited for the curtain to open.

The first thing I hear when the curtain flies open is an earsplitting note that sounded like nothing I had heard before. The opening of the first song was a saxophone solo, though I didn’t know what a saxophone was at the time. Soon the band chimed in behind the saxophone and played a smooth, catchy rendition of a jazz tune.

I looked up at my mother to ask what that instrument was. She looked down and said, ‘That’s a saxophone, son.’ The word sounded so fun and foreign to me. I looked up at my mother and said, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a saxophonist Manchester.’