Sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like building relationships.
It was about 7:30 on a spring morning when I pulled into the elementary school parking lot.
I had just taken my dreadnought guitar case out of the back seat and set it down to get my travel mug and lock the car door when I saw someone running out of the school's entrance.
As he ran by me into his car, there was no mistaking the fear on his face.
I asked what was wrong. He said, “There's a guy in that school with a gun! I mean he's got a gun!”
I put down my dreadnought, muttered my favorite obscenity under my breath, and broke into a trot to the school entrance.
When I was about ten yards away from the front door, a gentleman, about five foot six, in his thirties with a beard and mustashe, came out the front door wearing camo pants, an NRA t-shirt, and a baseball cap.
On his hip look to be a glock in a holster.
He was oblivious of me.
I walked up to him and said, “Sir, my name is Holmes and I work in the Colonial District. Is that a gun on your hip?”
He gave my three-piece suit a suspicious look.
“Yeah? So what.”, he said.
“Do you realize that you are in a gun-free zone, where you're not supposed to have guns within one-thousand feet of a school? And you just took one into a school?”
He came right back with, “Is that a fact? Well, I got a license for this gun, and Imma gonna to carry it wherever I want.”
Clearly by his speech inflection and articulation pattern, he was southern. There was dentalization of the “th” sound and a substitution of the “i” sound for “e” which made me think he was from Alabama.
He started to try and walk past me to the lot but I side-stepped into his path.
I responded with, “Look, I totally understand the fact that you might have a license for this gun, but hey, we don't have it here with us right now, do we? As things stand, you are not to be inside of school with a gun.”
He took a step forward toward me.
With unsympathetic determination, he leaned in, rested his right hand on the glock's grip, and said, “I got a right to have this gun.”
The way he said “right” sounded almost like he was saying “rat”.
At this point he was unyielding with no hint of backing down.
I didn't even have my dreadnought case to defend myself. I was armed with a three-piece black suit, a fountain pen, and a pocket full of guitar picks while he had a glock.
It felt way beyond uncomfortable.
He knew I was blocking his way on the sidewalk.
I was afraid of what I might find inside the school and I didn't want him to run away.
I decided to play the numbers.
While I had only been in the school for several months, the membership in chorus was huge and the kids who were in the lower grades all wanted to be in chorus. If he was a parent, there was good chance his child was in chorus.
I looked at him and asked, “Hey, isn't your kid in chorus?”
His face lit up.
“Oh, you're THAT Mr. Holmes! Our kids LOVE you! They're always telling stories about how you that throw a guitar up in the air and catch it!"
I smiled, “Yep, that’s me.”
“And they're always singing those crazy songs in our car! They LOOOOVE you!”
In a matter of seconds, his whole demeanor and physiognomy transformed.
“That's awesome”, I said. “But let me just ask you this, dad. The next time you need to go into the school, could you please leave your gun under your seat in the truck or maybe in the glove compartment?”
“Yes sir, I will do that definitely, sir. Wait till I tell the kids who I saw today!”
I shook his hand and said, “Well, that's awesome.”
I lowered my voice. “I'm glad we understand now how to do this next time in the parking lot with a gun. Here, take these for the kids.”
I reached in my pocket and gave him a handful guitar picks to take home.
“Oh my lord, the kids are going to go nuts when they see these! They talk about those guitar picks all the time! Thank you so much thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He headed to his pickup truck and I ran into the school where I found out he came in to complain about some fee he had been charged that had been attributed to his children that wasn't warranted.
Like I said, sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like convincing a dad to keep his gun in his truck.
It was about 7:30 on a spring morning when I pulled into the elementary school parking lot.
I had just taken my dreadnought guitar case out of the back seat and set it down to get my travel mug and lock the car door when I saw someone running out of the school's entrance.
As he ran by me into his car, there was no mistaking the fear on his face.
I asked what was wrong. He said, “There's a guy in that school with a gun! I mean he's got a gun!”
I put down my dreadnought, muttered my favorite obscenity under my breath, and broke into a trot to the school entrance.
When I was about ten yards away from the front door, a gentleman, about five foot six, in his thirties with a beard and mustashe, came out the front door wearing camo pants, an NRA t-shirt, and a baseball cap.
On his hip look to be a glock in a holster.
He was oblivious of me.
I walked up to him and said, “Sir, my name is Holmes and I work in the Colonial District. Is that a gun on your hip?”
He gave my three-piece suit a suspicious look.
“Yeah? So what.”, he said.
“Do you realize that you are in a gun-free zone, where you're not supposed to have guns within one-thousand feet of a school? And you just took one into a school?”
He came right back with, “Is that a fact? Well, I got a license for this gun, and Imma gonna to carry it wherever I want.”
Clearly by his speech inflection and articulation pattern, he was southern. There was dentalization of the “th” sound and a substitution of the “i” sound for “e” which made me think he was from Alabama.
He started to try and walk past me to the lot but I side-stepped into his path.
I responded with, “Look, I totally understand the fact that you might have a license for this gun, but hey, we don't have it here with us right now, do we? As things stand, you are not to be inside of school with a gun.”
He took a step forward toward me.
With unsympathetic determination, he leaned in, rested his right hand on the glock's grip, and said, “I got a right to have this gun.”
The way he said “right” sounded almost like he was saying “rat”.
At this point he was unyielding with no hint of backing down.
I didn't even have my dreadnought case to defend myself. I was armed with a three-piece black suit, a fountain pen, and a pocket full of guitar picks while he had a glock.
It felt way beyond uncomfortable.
He knew I was blocking his way on the sidewalk.
I was afraid of what I might find inside the school and I didn't want him to run away.
I decided to play the numbers.
While I had only been in the school for several months, the membership in chorus was huge and the kids who were in the lower grades all wanted to be in chorus. If he was a parent, there was good chance his child was in chorus.
I looked at him and asked, “Hey, isn't your kid in chorus?”
His face lit up.
“Oh, you're THAT Mr. Holmes! Our kids LOVE you! They're always telling stories about how you that throw a guitar up in the air and catch it!"
I smiled, “Yep, that’s me.”
“And they're always singing those crazy songs in our car! They LOOOOVE you!”
In a matter of seconds, his whole demeanor and physiognomy transformed.
“That's awesome”, I said. “But let me just ask you this, dad. The next time you need to go into the school, could you please leave your gun under your seat in the truck or maybe in the glove compartment?”
“Yes sir, I will do that definitely, sir. Wait till I tell the kids who I saw today!”
I shook his hand and said, “Well, that's awesome.”
I lowered my voice. “I'm glad we understand now how to do this next time in the parking lot with a gun. Here, take these for the kids.”
I reached in my pocket and gave him a handful guitar picks to take home.
“Oh my lord, the kids are going to go nuts when they see these! They talk about those guitar picks all the time! Thank you so much thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He headed to his pickup truck and I ran into the school where I found out he came in to complain about some fee he had been charged that had been attributed to his children that wasn't warranted.
Like I said, sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like convincing a dad to keep his gun in his truck.
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