An Ode to B

At first,
to me,
you were the quintessential <tyrant>.

You terrified me and I despised you.

You humiliated me into resentful submission
     by ripping open my fragile ego,
     publicly,
     and forcing me
     to try
     to live up to my own projected self.

I cried every day after class,
     bemoaned your meanness,
     your despotism.

Until, finally,

I quit.

And then,
sensing, perhaps, that you´d pushed too far,
in a rare moment of vulnerability,
a brief parting of the clouds,
you told me I was needed,
valued.

Grudgingly, I tried again.

And so it was
that you became the <trainer>:

The bull-headed drill sergeant,
     barking out orders,
     telling us how terrible we were:
     "On a scale of one to ten, that was a minus-forty!"

but with a glint of humor, of humanity -
     that had always been there?
     that my fear and fragility
     had forced me to ignore?

I discovered I no longer
despised you,

and was shocked to find
     that I actually wanted
     to live up to your impossible standards,
     to be real, really me,
     only better;

to allow for failure,
to laugh at it, even,
but to aim for greatness.

I grew up, a little,

and, somewhere along the way,
you became my <teacher>.

I was insatiable.
I couldn´t get enough.
I relished learning
what I had thought I loathed.

You no longer needed to yell,
although, of course, you did
(old habits die hard);

I followed willingly.

You taught <music>;
I learned <life>:

"Sit back into the upbeats - don´t rush them, enjoy them."

"If you love something, you´ll work at it until you bleed!"

"Try again. Again. AGAIN!"

Your former students visited often:
     musicians
     actors
     artists
     doctors and masters of many things.

All grateful,
all bemused by your resilience
     and by their own memories of that famous classroom.

You hoped I, too,
might teach music,
someday.

I suppose I have,
sometimes.

But I can only hope that,
someday,
I might be given your gift
of teaching life,

its pain and sorrow
disguised as
snare drum hits,
discordant harmonies
and tuba growls;

it´s joyful abandon
buoyed up
by sax riffs,
trombone slides
and endless, jolting upbeats

that raise us up,
ever higher,

ever more real,

ever more ourselves.