We will, we will, rock you!

My 15 year old, long haired, 6 foot tall son played at a school concert a few weeks ago. My son playing self-taught keyboard via YouTube with his best mate on guitar. And my nerves almost couldn’t take it. I withheld any advice, smiling tightly as I heard him practice, and occasionally give up in the difficult bits. Watching his frustrated, gangling lope back to his room. I counted down the days, and casually asked him if he felt OK about the upcoming night, before being cut off with the stock standard response to all of my questions, ever. “It’s fine.. whatever!”

The night rolled around, and I left work early to meet him and my husband at the school gym. Battling nausea and shallow breathing, memories of my own foray into public performance and subsequent embarrassment came screaming back. I prayed the same fate would not befall my son, and I berated myself for any lack of parenting and resilience I’d failed to instill in him thus far. Which may be required in the next few moments.

They played Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love and Bohemian Rhapsody – or part thereof..

And they rocked it! The crowd were nodding along, some singing, and the kids went wild at the end. So good!

Unlike my own experience at the about the same age. I was classically trained on the piano. Thumping a 100 year old German Thurmer upright grand in my parents front lounge, with finger grooves worn into the yellowing real ivory keys, and questionable tuning. Lessons and exams sat under sufferance, doing no justice to Bach, Beethoven and Czerny, until the age of about 14. I was no prodigy.

It was possibly 1988 – 1989? Europe’s Tomorrow was my song of choice. With James, the coolest kid in the school on lead guitar, who went on to have a very, very successful music career. But I was no Joey Tempest.

It all started off so well, and then something happened to my timing. I saw James’ frown and heard his skilled recovery. I prayed no one would notice as they swooned over his long hair and killer smile. Then the pressure of public failure and anxiety kicked in and I swear my ears switched off. The rest is a blur but I am aware I skipped over a difficult middle section that had always given me grief… and hurried to the closing few bars in an effort to end on something I knew well, and get the heck out of there! Needless to say, James was not impressed, and I think that hurt more than the public humility. That I failed him. Perhaps embarrassed him. One of those childhood core memories that stay with you forever.

But, it seems my son is cooler than me (not difficult), and has awesome taste in music. He may appear shy and reserved, socially reluctant. But can pull out the big guns when required. He’s now playing more and more. Queen’s Love of my life holds special meaning for me, and I have to leave the room as soon as I hear the opening notes, for fear of triggering menopausal tears. Don’t want to scare the poor kid!

So I will just watch his progress from the sidelines, occasionally daring to tell him how awesome he is, and how proud I am, in the most nonchalant way I can muster. Anything more will be met with a “Fine!.....Whatever!” anyway.

Love that kid x

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