This morning, the kitchen radio played us into breakfast with Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” Usually nothing can distract me from my lavender honey, but I had to hear the whole song, start to finish. I was transported back to Jefferson Senior High School. In the band room. Eagerly following the direction of Mr. Bud Christianson, (Christy, as we called him). He had the thickest hair of any human I had ever seen, that waved on his head as sure as the notes on the stand in front of him. He directed us, not with force, but with fun. Every hour in his band room was just that – fun. He’d wiggle and dance up to the podium. We’d seen it every day for three years, yet it still made us smile. He loved music. (And one would have to – really love it – to listen to the way we attempted to play it each day.) But that’s the thing – we played music – it was play. He knew it. We knew it. And it made us love the music, and him even more. We wanted to follow him. 

I can’t imagine the effort it took to contain a roomful of teenagers armed with noisemakers. But he did. When he led us through “In the Mood,” the key was to hold us back, let the song build. And it was exciting. He’d press his hands in a downward motion. Not yet. Still quiet. Wait for it. And we wanted it all the more. Wait. He’d press one hand down, one finger to his lips. And our hearts raced. Release us!  Please, let us go! And then it arrived – Christy through his hands in the air – Baaaam BAAAAAAM!!!!! -we let the notes fly!  What a thrill! Every time. The mood was always music. And we were in it!  I still am!

What a gift he gave us!  We didn’t win any awards. Our only ovations came from our parents, maybe a janitor. Make no mistake though – oh, how we won! I’m still winning. My heart races years later, in a country far away, next to a radio that will never speak Bud Christianson’s name. But I will. Probably for the rest of my life. My shoulders bounce to the beat as I’m typing. Thank you, Christy!