The Recorder Exam

The Recorder Exam

I started playing the recorder when I was in first grade. I did not know how to play it, but I remember how I used to bite the mouthpiece just to hide how anxious I was. I do not understand why I have to carry a white plastic instrument every day as I go to school, not knowing that it isn't a flute. It never was.

The white and black keys, for me, are defined as childhood regrets. For my mom, it was her unfulfilled ambitions in life. One way of masking her insecurities is by bringing us fruits, sometimes even buying us a Happy Meal or an ice cream as we go home from school.

I usually forget names, but I remember the faces of people exactly the first time I meet them. But when I think of first grade, I remember a friend named Kim and her doe-like eyes. I used to dread recitals, but now that I'm older, I wish I could be good at something, like a plastic instrument called a recorder.

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