Dear Ms. Carpenter,
First, please let me tell you what a great music teacher I think you are. I was absolutely blown away by what you accomplished at the 4th grade holiday concert. I know, all too well, the cacophony of sound that is the 4th grade – the squealing, shrieking, and screaming that comprises the female portion of that group; the monkey dialect, alphabet burps, and farting noises that make up the boy section. That you could make them sound so wonderful was truly an amazing feat and I commend you for your hard work and your ability to maintain your (apparent) sanity and good mood throughout it all.
All that being said, I do have a teensy-weensy complaint. It involves the instrument (and I use that term loosely) Ryan brought home last week… that unfortunate offspring of the forbidden union between the flute and the kazoo. Would that they had made like Romeo and Juliet and poisoned/stabbed/blown themselves up before they gave birth to… The Recorder.
Ms. Carpenter, I know this isn’t your fault. I know you must, to a significant degree, teach what the state dictates. I understand that the recorder has been part of the curriculum since Christ was a child. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t. But I am here to tell you that I am one step away from sticking kabob skewers into both ears… simultaneously. Digging parts of my brain out through my nose would be preferable to hearing Hot Cross Buns. Even. One. More. Time.
Is there anything you can do? I wouldn’t ask, really, but Ms. Carpenter, I’m a single mom. Ryan needs me. She needs me to be here and not locked away in a padded cell, mumbling incoherently, my face screwed into the permanent ‘recorder squinch’. Maybe you could lower your expectations slightly? So that, say, Ryan doesn’t have to practice? At all? Or maybe she could pass the recorder class by helping you out a bit. She’s a really bright kid… I bet she could master the copy machine with little instruction; she’s creative and enjoys doing bulletin boards; she’s very organized and I feel certain she’d happily clean your classroom. And yes, I realize this sounds a lot like bribery (and probably breaks a lot of child labor laws, too) but I’m a bit desperate here. I’m on my knees, begging, tears in my eyes, cotton in my ears.
Please. Please. Please.