I used to think my daughter might become a drummer. She enjoyed playing on her cousin’s kit and took up a chance to learn African and Samba drumming. But now I’m not so sure.
After a year or more of trying, last night Freya found she could whistle. Setting aside all the horrors we’re facing of yet another family member wandering around the house whistling aimlessly, this was a big thing for her. She has come up to me on numerous occasions and asked, “Is this whistling?” and made a blowing noise that is closer to the sound you make when blowing up a balloon. But last night a pure, musical noise emerged and once again we proved the point that insane amounts of persistence usually pay off, even if the reward is something that will, eventually, drive you nuts.
This morning I challenged Freya to whistle again. She puckered up and then said, “Wait! I’ve got to get the right tone.”
That’s when I knew she was going to be a guitarist.