My family is pretty musical. Not in a “Wow, you should hear them!” kind of way. More like – most of us play an instrument. Some of us (my sister) play five. Some of us (me) probably only play a handful of times a year. But… enough that it’s in our family bones.
I grew up surrounded by music. My mom is a music teacher, and when I think back to the days of doing homework, those memories always have a soundtrack of afternoon piano lessons a couple of rooms away.
Every Christmas, after presents and lunch, all the kids and cousins will be called out of the pool to come and play carols together. My mom chooses a few, and then arranges them for each instrument, often handwriting the music for us. We stand around in costumes and towels, finding a spot for our drinks, as we pick up our instruments, some of us relying on muscle memory more than consistent practice, as my mom helps tune the flutes and violin and guitars and ukuleles. The smallest kids sometimes fight over the tambourines or triangles – or the coveted spot on my mom’s lap at the piano, where they can rest their hands on hers as she plays.
I love watching new partners go through this rite of passage, being handed a song sheet at the very least, if they are strong enough to resist a tambourine and my mom’s enthusiasm.
“Everyone ready?” she’ll say. We never are. Or, mostly, as ready as we’ll ever be. And we begin.
It’s not… good. Although sometimes, a few songs in, we really hit our stride, usually around ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’, and there’s much cheering and self-congratulation as we finish the carol with a flourish, and a kid or an uncle says, “More, more!”
But it is so full of joy. Even, sometimes especially, if it’s a mess. Because it’s us. And as you play, you can almost feel the previous years’ carols within the notes spilling out of your instrument. The way our orchestra members have expanded and shrunk and expanded over the years, as the triangle players have graduated to flutes, as different instruments join the ranks depending on a new enthusiasm of my talented sister, or a guest who happens to play the oboe.
It’s such an ingrained tradition that, one Christmas when we all went to the seaside, we lugged a keyboard and a host of other instruments with us just for the joy of these few songs.
When my husband, Joe, and I were dreaming up things we wanted to weave into our wedding, we both independently decided that we’d like to include the song ‘All I Want Is You’ by Barry Louis Polisar (you might know it from the Juno soundtrack). It didn’t feel right for the ceremony, but maybe somewhere at the reception?
“What if…” I said, “we ask my family to learn it and perform it?” A bold idea. Given… well, everything I’ve told you above. But how much fun! How meaningful! How perfectly in keeping with the whole vibe of the wedding weekend: relaxed, easy-going togetherness.
While it was an easy yes for Joe, my family took some convincing. Understandably, it felt like quite a lot of pressure to perform for everyone. But they came around when I was clear that it didn’t have to be “good”. It was something fun and sweet, a nod to family tradition, a personal and meaningful gift of love.
The trick was that the song needed a harmonica, and that was pretty much the only instrument not within their collective repertoire. So I did the only thing that made sense: I asked my sister if she would mind learning to play one… just for the day. Please?
Her reaction was to laugh and say, “Of course!” (The fact that this was the exact reaction I expected will tell you everything you need to know about her generosity and talent).
They all set about learning the song and practising – individually. Because the next hurdle was that not everyone lived in the same city. Or country. I wasn’t worried. (Although I did hear that my cousin, whose wedding was a few months after mine, asked that he please, please, not be surprised with a similar “gift”, which amused me enormously.)
About a month or two before the wedding, I was on the treadmill, listening to my playlist of wedding songs, when I had a thought. What if… after the first verse of the song… as a total surprise… I went up to join the band? What if… my sister handed me another harmonica? And I played it?
I phoned her almost immediately. “Exactly how hard is it to learn?” I said. “Be honest.”
Learning to play the harmonica in secret via YouTube tutorials was made easier by the fact that Joe was away for work quite a lot in the month leading up to the wedding. It was made harder by the fact that our rescue Scottie, Eleanor, would HOWL in utter despair whenever I tried to play, even when I (somehow) got competent enough to fudge my way through the chorus.
But, as I kept telling my family, it didn’t have to be perfect. The only time they were able to practise all together was on the morning of the wedding. As I was still keeping my involvement a secret from everyone but the band members, I couldn’t join them. The only one who had witnessed my playing had been Eleanor. And she was not exactly complimentary. I was not dissuaded.
On the night of the wedding, after the speeches, the MCs announced this final treat: a live performance of a song that meant a lot to me and Joe. There was much anticipation. The band took their places, and I stood with the audience, Joe’s arm around me, as they began to play.
It was as full of all the joy and fun that I had imagined it would be. As they got to the first chorus, I turned to Joe, handed him my drink, kissed him, and walked up to the band. Where my sister handed me an extra harmonica. Which I started to play.
It was hard not to laugh as I looked at Joe, who was staring at me in disbelief. I think he actually said, ‘Are you kidding me?”
We played and we sang… and it was probably on par with the Christmas carols, although we did get asked for an encore (generous). I loved every second.
Was it polished? No.
Was it perfect? Completely.
A little slice of family tradition, of vulnerability, of love, baked into a perfect day.
I’d tell you that I’ll be dusting off the harmonica for carols this year… but I don’t think Eleanor could handle it on an emotional level.
Ah well.