It was April 1 sometime in the 70's.
I was a flute performance major in college. That means that I played my flute for several hours a day when I wasn't practicing piano.
Picture this: I had just performed successfully in a Wind Ensemble concert. It was a week before Spring Break. I was engaged in some post concert high jinx with two trombone players (my future roommate's brothers).
Mistake.
Stay away from the trombone players.
One of them thought it would be a good idea to grab my feet out from underneath me.
Wrong.
Since I was a flutist instead of a martial artist, I'd never learned how to take a fall.
I reached my right hand out behind me to break my fall.
SNAP!!!!!!!!
Hmmmmmm. What's this? When I try to make a fist with my right hand, the last two fingers just sort of flop around.
Oh, and what's that pain about?
Fast forward to X-rays in the emergency room.
A bone should never look like that.
My right ring finger metacarpal was snapped like a chicken bone.
That meant a cast that extended up my forearm.
Oh, did I mention I'm right handed?
I called my sister to give her the news that I would not be home that night, that my hand was in a cast, and to tell Mom and Dad.
"April Fools!", was her reply.
"No, I'm serious. Tell Mom and Dad that I'm spending the night at Carolynn's, and I'll be home tomorrow after school."
"April Fools!!!!"
"I'm NOT KIDDING!!!! Tell Mom and Dad..."
"April Fools!!!"
"Grrrrrrrrrr. See you tomorrow."
That night I tried brushing my teeth left handed, but ended up brushing my nose hairs instead.
I dragged myself to my 8am theory class the next morning. I think I walked in late, because my theory professor began with a snide remark, but ended with, "Oh, Miss FlutePrayer! What happened?"
He was much more sympathetic than my piano class teacher. Although I was wearing a cast on my right hand, she still insisted that I take the piano playing tests. All I could do was bang on the keyboard (it was kind of fun in, a sad way).
Did I mention that I had waist length hair that required daily washing. Try doing that one handed.
Was I able to play flute?
Nooooooooooooooooooo.
I could play piccolo, though, and miserably made my way through Prokofiev's First Piano Concerto a few nights after my mishap.
Fortunately my Capri had an automatic or I would not have been able to drive.
And my sister?
Seeing is believing.
I was a flute performance major in college. That means that I played my flute for several hours a day when I wasn't practicing piano.
Picture this: I had just performed successfully in a Wind Ensemble concert. It was a week before Spring Break. I was engaged in some post concert high jinx with two trombone players (my future roommate's brothers).
Mistake.
Stay away from the trombone players.
One of them thought it would be a good idea to grab my feet out from underneath me.
Wrong.
Since I was a flutist instead of a martial artist, I'd never learned how to take a fall.
I reached my right hand out behind me to break my fall.
SNAP!!!!!!!!
Hmmmmmm. What's this? When I try to make a fist with my right hand, the last two fingers just sort of flop around.
Oh, and what's that pain about?
Fast forward to X-rays in the emergency room.
A bone should never look like that.
My right ring finger metacarpal was snapped like a chicken bone.
That meant a cast that extended up my forearm.
Oh, did I mention I'm right handed?
I called my sister to give her the news that I would not be home that night, that my hand was in a cast, and to tell Mom and Dad.
"April Fools!", was her reply.
"No, I'm serious. Tell Mom and Dad that I'm spending the night at Carolynn's, and I'll be home tomorrow after school."
"April Fools!!!!"
"I'm NOT KIDDING!!!! Tell Mom and Dad..."
"April Fools!!!"
"Grrrrrrrrrr. See you tomorrow."
That night I tried brushing my teeth left handed, but ended up brushing my nose hairs instead.
I dragged myself to my 8am theory class the next morning. I think I walked in late, because my theory professor began with a snide remark, but ended with, "Oh, Miss FlutePrayer! What happened?"
He was much more sympathetic than my piano class teacher. Although I was wearing a cast on my right hand, she still insisted that I take the piano playing tests. All I could do was bang on the keyboard (it was kind of fun in, a sad way).
Did I mention that I had waist length hair that required daily washing. Try doing that one handed.
Was I able to play flute?
Nooooooooooooooooooo.
I could play piccolo, though, and miserably made my way through Prokofiev's First Piano Concerto a few nights after my mishap.
Fortunately my Capri had an automatic or I would not have been able to drive.
And my sister?
Seeing is believing.
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