Music Man Peter , Narrative
" On Fridays Music Man Peter , the music therapist, comes in to visit the 'special needs kids' at the summer camp I'm happily employed at. The group of seven children bubble with excitement that seems to threaten to lift them off their feet at any moment. Like the bubbles inside them may float them off their cushy mats and float them directly to the ceiling.
Corey, a child of about seven, has this same constant energy surging through him most of the time, causing his body to wriggle, and wiggle, and squirm, and shake at times where he is to sit quietly with patience. Simon is 8, he has wiry muscles, and his father dresses him in an orange sleeveless shirt on most days, he usually possesses an angry energy inside of him, and sometimes I sense his anger and bitterness, blossoming into a developing evil. Perhaps into an abusive husband, or convict.
Most of the children are high energy, craving attention, and bursting at the seams. As staff I stand by to remind them of rules and behaviors and keep them on the ground at all times.
Peter is thin and has a mass of dark curly hair, thinning slightly on the top of his head. He wears flowing , patterned shirts, with the top unbuttoned, and sparse black hairs populating his flat chest. He smiles calmly and carries his guitar and bag of instruments into the building half an hour late every week. He's a laid back guy, he lets the kids play the drum with their feet and leaves the nervous discipline to myself and the other staff that encircle the outside perimeter of the kids like a gaping gate.
Peter begins to sing his signature morning song strumming simple chords on his guitar.
"Good morning everyone,
Good morning everyone,
Good morning everyoneee
...
I'mmmmm glad you came to-day."
I look at him and wonder 'how does one become a certified music therapist anyway?'. His flowing shirt, and escaping chest hair reminds me more of a new age man who should be specializing in tantric sex classes then anything.
Peter leads the kids around the room hopping on one foot and taking baby steps while he sings a song as if he were the pied piper leading the rats away from town. Unneeded I stand uselessly at the sidelines by the lunch tables. With a smile pasted on my face I feel an urge for productivity, to push in chairs, or wipe off the counter, something.. anything. This is something that has been instilled in me while working in past jobs that required more visible results. Th ever useful trait of 'looking busy'.
Peter leads the kids back the circle. I resume corralling the children like a sheepdog running a herd into their pen. We hush, and straighten the kids, glare, and warn the out of control kids, trying the best we can to settle them back down for the ending of Peter's show. Corey's harmonica stops, Simon stops rooting through Peters things, and the rest are partially focused on reality and out of their head.
Peter sings us out, with the same simple chords he played in the beginning
"Good bye everyone
Good bye everyone
Good bye everyoneee
....
I'm glad you came to day"
