Because he lost his backpack with his harp, chess notebook, and several expensive field guides contained within, I purchased a new harp for him- one that cost five times as much as the one he lost. I'm not good at incentives.
He looked forward to playing with the spontaneous combustion of the soul sisters- but the soul sisters were sick. Imagine our fun fortune when he got the chance to play with the Blues Project Intermediate Band.
Even the chapped lips couldn't stop him from the thrill of those wooden reeds. In fact, he rushed to the restroom to wash his mouth before touching his lips to his harp. Explanation: "Mom, you know that chapstick can clog the reeds..." I can't remember if he added the provisional "Duh".
After explaining the sad story of Trayvon's death to him, Max finally agreed that wearing his hoodie during the performance might not be advisable. On the other hand, he said he wanted to wear his hoodie whenever he walked in a park or a street in memory of Trayvon. (Sheesh- the Max has an even stronger sense of justice than his mother...)
Candlelight, a steady dose of blues, and the soft glimmer of a brand new harp that nothing can keep you from playing- what more can we ask of life?
