BEDA 13: A Confession

Lynda is mowing the grass in the front yard and the girls are in the backyard making a movie of some sort with the iPad. So now seems as good a time as any to confession something to you.

Will you keep it a secret? For some reason, I am ashamed to say it out loud . . .

(I want to learn to play the ukulele.)

. . .

Credit: http://www.moorebettahukes.com

What do you think? Are you ashamed to know me now? Do you think its a ridiculous thing for a 41-year-old man to aspire to? Are ukulele's best left to Don Ho, Tiny Tim, and twee hipsters-in-training? (Can you see where my preconceptions are?)

But here out my reasoning--such as it is.

1. They are inexpensive. I'm sure you can get handcrafted models made of driftwood in Honolulu that are inlaid with coconut wood and they are quite pricey. But for a beginner such as myself, you can probably buy a standard uke and a case for around $70, right? Didn't I see that as a price in the Uptown music store a few months ago?
2. They are portable. Speaking of that case . . . they are small, light, certainly easier to manage than my good ole French horn or Lynda's dusty old guitar. And if we go traveling, it won't take up any of the premium packing space in the van full of five people's gear and such.
3. They are easy to learn? I mean, right? Sort of? Maybe? I've never actually tried to learn . . . but they have one less string than a guitar, two-thirds less string than my brother's banjo, and if they are so popular with the callow youth, they can't be THAT hard to pick up, can they? (I mean, most of today's kids won't do ANYTHING that causes them to break out in a sweat, so I'm probably right on this one.)
4. I can finally join the Martin Family Jamboree band. Whenever we get together these days, Andy either plays the banjo, the guitar, the fiddle, or whatever he whittled this week. Erick almost always has his guitar. And the rest of us can sing along if we remember the words to Uncle Pen. But if I could also bring along a ukulele and contribute some dynamic chords, then I'd be the family hero! Nobody would ever mistake me for Daniel again!

So, there. I've unburdened myself and now I feel compelled to live up to my public pronouncement. If, the next time you see me, I've not strumming along to Tiny Bubbles or something, feel free to punch me in the neck.

Cheers!