All too often I will hear people say their personal stories aren’t good enough to share. Nothing dramatic happened. Nothing very shocking. Nothing that other people would care much about. But some of the best stories are those with a simple narrative, but that also contain great meaning.

Such are the stories that recall childhood memories — those special times spent with family members. In this case, Ryan Roe’s story at The Moth takes us back to the time when he was learning to play the trombone. The story which unfolds is, at first, one of discomfort, but it turns into a father-son bonding experience that Ryan holds onto throughout life.

It’s heartfelt, as you’ll come to find out when you watch Ryan on stage, but it’s also filled with many funny moments. Listen to how he uses the technique of self-deprecating humor that also serves to enhance the visual experience.

You can still smell the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And if you look close enough at the floor, you can see the remnants of Taco Tuesday.

Without that humor his story would still be meaningful, but it wouldn’t have connected to the audience in the same way. It involves an effort to be near someone we like (we’ve all done that) and also being put into a potentially embarrassing situation (who hasn’t been there), so we’re rooting for Ryan.

Transcript

When I was in fourth grade, that’s when we as students could pick an instrument to take lessons in and play in the school band. And I chose the trombone for two reasons.

The first one was that there’s this cute girl named Jessica who told me that she was going to play the saxophone. And I had heard that the saxophone players and the trombone players took lessons together. Now, the reason I didn’t just also play the saxophone was that the buttons scared me.

And the second reason I chose trombone was that my dad is a phenomenal trombone player. For many years, he played in the Marine Corps Band, and he traveled around the country playing with them. He was based in New Orleans, and he played in a lot of the jazz clubs there. And then after that, he became an instrument repairman.

So, a lot of my memories as a child were of hearing him test the instruments in our house, playing his favorite songs. And I just loved the sound of the trombone. So I felt like if I played trombone, that would make him proud.

Now, the only other trombone player in the school was a fifth grader named Gina. And for months, Gina and I took lessons with our music teacher, and after all this time spent practicing, I just sounded terrible. The noise that came out of my trombone sounded like a hive of angry bees, yet somehow more alarming.

And, you know, it’s a really hard instrument to play for a fourth grader because you have these little fourth-grade arms, and you can’t even reach far enough to hit a C note. And what’s more embarrassing is that when you have an instrument that has a lot of valves and reeds and keys, if it sounds bad, you can sort of blame it on the instrument.

But when it’s just one long horn, if it sounds bad, it’s 100% your fault. I even came to my dad at one point and I was like, “This thing’s busted.” And he’s like, “Here’s the thing, no, it’s not.”

But the only consolation I had in all this was that Gina was also terrible. So as long as she was embarrassing herself, I felt fine embarrassing myself. Until two weeks before our first concert, Gina decides to quit. Up and leaving me as the only trombone player in the whole school, and my music teacher is worried.

But that week, my dad came in for a parent-teacher conference and he met with my music teacher and mentioned to her that he played trombone, and she goes, “Wait. Would you like to play in the winter concert with the fourth graders?” And he’s like, “I don’t know, this is their thing. I don’t want to take anything away from it.” And she’s like, “Please. Will you play in the winter concert?”

So he accepts and when he comes home and he tells me about it, he actually seems really excited about it. And I had to be like, “That’s awesome, Dad. I’m excited too.”

Because at this age, my biggest fear was being the center of attention. I just wanted to blend into the background. I did not want to be sitting in the front row with Jessica on my left and an adult man on my right.

But the concert comes around and we’re holding it in our dimly lit elementary school cafeteria. It was one of those cafeterias that weirdly has a full stage and curtains as if they’re trying to make the students think, “Will there be dinner and a show?” Who knows.

And the families are all there in their metal folding chairs. Suburban moms have their 30-pound camcorders armed and ready. You can still smell the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And if you look close enough at the floor, you can see the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And the drummers, they were lucky. They got to sit all the way in the back, along with this kid named Evan who had a triangle because he wasn’t really to be trusted.

And every family that walked into the room instantly looked in my direction and had a confused look because it was exactly as I had predicted. Me in the front row, Jessica on my left, and my adult father on my right.

And we begin playing the first song and immediately my dad and I are in a competition to see who can play the quietest. I’m playing quietly because I don’t want people to hear the noises coming out of my trombone. My dad is playing quietly because he doesn’t want to upstage a bunch of nine-year-olds. We’re both playing so quietly that the music teacher is waving her baton at us and mouthing, “Get louder! Now!”

But we get through the Blue Danube. The Carnival of the Animals goes a little better. And by the time we get to the Funeral March, I can finally relax. But the last song that we played was What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. And you guys know it, it’s a very soft and slow song. It’s a bit easier to play on an instrument.

And as I’m playing, I start to listen to my dad playing next to me. And I’m hearing him hit every note perfectly and smoothly transition to the next. And then I look out into the crowd and I can see everyone else’s dad sitting there. And then I look over at my dad, and he’s smiling because he’s having the time of his life playing the instrument that he loves with his son that he loves.

And I felt really lucky to be playing next to my dad. I finally felt like this is a really special thing, I should cherish it.

And he ended up playing in every concert we did for the next five years. We had zero new trombone players every year for five years. So we just kept inviting him back. And it was awesome. I loved it. Every single time. I was never embarrassed about it, I always looked forward to it, and it was always a special moment.

So much so that when I got to high school and there were some upperclassmen that played trombone, I was no longer the only trombone player, so he didn’t need to play with us anymore. And I only ended up playing one more semester before I decided to quit because it just wasn’t as fun anymore. Something felt missing. So I moved on.

Fast forward to just a few years ago, I was taking a road trip through the South and I stopped for a day in New Orleans. And I was really excited because my dad had told me so many things about New Orleans and the whole experience just felt magical walking around the city because I kept thinking to myself, “This was my dad’s home when he was my age.”

And I ended the day by going to a jazz club called Preservation Hall. And it’s a really small club with these guys that play Dixieland jazz. And they sat me right next to the trombone player. And I’m having a great time listening to these guys, they’re so talented.

And then right before they ended the show, a guy came up from the back of the room and handed the lead man a five-dollar bill and asked him to play What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.

And as I’m listening to the trombone player hit every note perfectly and smoothly transition to the next, I become overwhelmed with emotion because I was being transformed back into being fourth-grade Ryan. And I felt so lucky that I got to have those special moments with my dad.

And so when I got back home, I went to my parents’ house and I told my dad all about it and I thanked him for what he had done all those years ago. And then I went up to the attic and we had kept my trombone this whole time. So every now and then, my dad and I will still get that musical itch and we’ll go up to the attic and we’ll break out our trombones.

And I open up the case and I smell that sweet brass smell. And I put the horn and the slide together and you just hear all the familiar sounds. And when I begin playing, I’m immediately reminded of how terrible I am. But he hits every note perfectly, and that’s the fun part for me.

Thank you.

Now back to you…

Take a moment to think about similar experiences from your youth — from your childhood, to adolescence, to your teenage years. Is there some event (or series of events) that defined your relationship to one or both of your parents? Music, sports, nature, travel, food, etc.

Consider the sweet aspects, the humorous ones, as well as the meaningful ones. What memories have you carried with you throughout your life? As you recall an event, try to go deeper. What did it feel like, sound like, look like? As adults, we’ll too often push those memories into a corner, when the truth is, they are often well worth revisiting and sharing.

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