As I was getting out of my car tonight, the neighborhood kids kept shouting my name. Now, I’ve taught my own children to address adults with respect, so I didn’t shout back, just went about my business, and waited to hear what what would come next. Eventually, the youngest of them said, “Dina, can I be in your band?” I gathered my stuff, poked my head around the car and replied, “Can you be in my band? Sure. What instrument do you play?” He said, “Drums. I was the only one who wasn’t afraid to ask you. The rest of them hid [behind that tree].” I indulged the conversation for a little while and brought out my shiny new electric guitar for them to look at. It was a delightful six minutes or so. That was that.
Turns out not a single one of them plays an instrument.