There's music in my pants

Drums are awesome. When I was a kid, I wanted to be in a drum line. The thrill of the bang, a parade, that rhythmic sound like a giant heart beating. BAM, BAM, BAM of the bass, the rat-tat-tat of the snare made me wave my arms and play in my imaginary band. It brought the streets to life. It gave the lines of clowns and shriners a pulsing hop in their step. I wanted to be a drummer.

I don't really remember when that dream went quiet. I think it just slowly leaked away from me. It might have been the inferior quality of my Fisher Price drums or it might have been the value of peace and quiet that my parents subtly instilled. The high cost of a drum set surely played a part, but I was too young to understand that. It could have been that I just went to fewer parades. Do parades in another countries have drum lines? The marching band seems like it could be more American with its size and volume. Maybe I missed some that way.

My memory is fuzzy, but the drums got replaced by another instrument. What it lacked in verve it more than made up in portability. Particularly, my first harmonica, which fit easily in the pocket of a first grader. My first harmonica was a miniature. I could blow through it and then hide it under my tongue. It was a great recess trick. I did worry about choking on it in the event that I was hit by a four-square ball (or more likely in a game of sap), so I was careful to use my trick away from the ball games. It was fine for when I was climbing on the lincoln-log-esque tee-pees or for trying to get the attention of the girls like Candice and Autumn.

I suppose I lost that miniature harmonica. I had a tendency to lose things at that age, especially hats, so to lose an instrument smaller than my finger seems quite likely. I soon replaced the miniature with a beautiful full-sized Hohner Echo in a yellow carrying case. It fit in my pocket, but not under my tongue. The Echo was made in Germany and probably purchased there too. I can't remember picking it out specifically, but I do remember looking through many glass counters at the rows of harmonicas. The rows were full of musical possibility. Possibility that has mostly gone unrealized for me. These days the twenty-something Echo has lost a bit of its shine. The red edges still contrast with the silvery metal, but a bit of rust and twenty some-odd years of boy mouth dust have collected on the front side.

Somewhere along the line, I picked up another harmonica. I think it was a Hohner too. Single hole, in a blue carrying case, possibly a G rather than a C. It shows a little less wear. Sometimes I play these harmonicas, picturing myself in Folsom prison, out on the prairie, or riding the rails. I don't play them well and I don't usually play tunes that are recognizable, but there's something about that metallic sound and its portability that makes me keep them around.