My 13-year-old son has been playing clarinet since fourth grade: first on a lark with friends, then more seriously, as he joined the middle school orchestra. In recent months, he really began to enjoy it, and he’s playing a lot—sometimes for two hours at a time, sometimes as late as 10 p.m. before bed.
His bedroom shares a wall with our neighbors, an older husband and wife who we don’t speak to all that much. So I was surprised when the wife stopped me on the building’s front steps a few weeks ago, as I was returning from a dog walk and she was on her way out.
“Is your son playing an instrument?” she asked. “Like a woodwind, maybe an oboe?”
In my head, I cringed. “Yes, that’s our younger son. It’s a clarinet.”
Her face brightened. “He’s getting good!”