Maybe.

Today I babysat my 18-month old grandson.  He has quite an ear for music and he knows what he likes and what he doesn’t like.

He loves Bruce Springsteen.  He will not go to bed at night until he watches a certain song from a certain live concert in Spain on youtube.

One of his first words was, “Bru”.  We know who he means.

So…I had the brilliant idea of hauling my old fiddle to Texas and introducing the little guy to the sound of the violin.  He loves his father’s guitar.  I knew he would be impressed when Grandma made her own magic.

When I pulled it out of the case he was awestruck.  When I tuned it he came close and stood at my feet to listen.  I showed off with some double-stops and he smiled.  I sat on the couch and let him pluck the strings.   He was so thrilled he kissed my arm.  Then he crawled into my lap so he could hold it himself.  He wanted to hold the bow, so I helped him saw it back and forth across the strings.

Which is when things went wrong.  The sound was squeaky and horrible.  He turned to me and frowned.  Gave the bow back.  Scooted off my lap.

I played “Faded Love” for him, trying to prove that the fiddle could indeed sound good and live up to his musical expectations.

And the little boy who had not left my side for two and a half hours ran out of the living room, into his bedroom and shut the door.

I didn’t tell him “Bru” is in Austin this week.  He’s stuck with Grandma instead.