Hi Yo Silver

My mom had this thing of listening to classical music on her small radio. I could be wrong, but I think that brown box had only two stations: classical and country. When dad was working, mom turned on the radio. More often than not, we listened to classical. It was her favorite.

I can’t say for sure how old I was when I became aware of the different melodies. All I can remember is that I was not yet four years old. My brother was six.

Mom always wanted us to have a well-rounded sense of music no matter what it was. However, back then in the late 1940s, there really wasn’t much she could find on her old RCA. I remember looking at the dial with all the numbers and mom saying how not all of them worked. It could have been that the radio didn’t work or perhaps, we just didn’t get such great reception. As I said, I was only three years old. What did I know?

By the time I was five, mom would tune into the classical station and as soon as the song would begin to play, I was able to tell mom what the title of the song was and who wrote it. For instance, I knew Waltz of the Flowers was written by Tchaikovsky. Within three notes, I knew Dance of the Sugar Plums by Tchaikovsky. Of course, mom said I couldn’t pronounce his name, so I’d say Chiski. Close enough for a five-year-old.

One of her favorites was the William Tell Overture by Gioachino Rossini. Yes, my brother and I knew so many. Well, okay, we were kids, so maybe we didn’t know them all, but we sure did know more than the average child.

I was seven when my sister came along. My brother and I rarely listened to mom’s old radio anymore. However, mom tried to get my sister interested. Notice the word: tried!

She heard the tunes but couldn’t care one bit about who wrote that beautiful music. My brother and I never forgot. By then, we both could pronounce the names of the composers. Oh, and that’s another thing. We learned they weren’t “tunes,” they were symphonies, and the “writers” were composers! Yes, mom tried to teach us all the correct language of music.

Unfortunately, for mom, dad bought us our first television and that ruined the radio for us. We’d rather watch the TV than listed to music. At least the TV shows had animation, whereas, with the radio, all you did was sit and listen. There wasn’t any action to watch.

My brother and I were allowed one hour each day to watch our cartoons. Other than that, mom had us reading and practicing our writing. Mom also would create homework for us: Arithmetic, Spelling, Geography. Mom was born a teacher. Later, as my sister got a bit older, mom became a teacher in one of the local elementary schools. A position in her life that she kept until her 80th birthday.

When my brother turned nine, he was showing signs of being bored. A neighbor told mom of an organization for children called the Sea Cadets of America. The child had to be nine to join which meant that my brother fit right in. I did not. (I remember every time he had a meeting with that group and I couldn't go, I’d cross my arms across my chest, put on my biggest frown, stamp my foot, and say, RATS!”)

One month before my ninth birthday, and only because my brother was a member, the owner of the organization made an exception, and allowed me to join. I was ecstatic.

The idea of this organization was to teach kids to be responsible. It taught us to follow orders. The Sea Cadets tried to mirror, in a child’s fashion, the US Navy. Our uniforms mimicked the Navy. Our ranks, did, too. We marched in cadence. They taught us to read a 16-point compass, and how to “kick” the compass, which meant memorize each point and recite it backwards!

My brother and I, in earnest, learned everything. As children, we never realized we were learning anything. That’s what school was for. All we knew, was that we were having fun.

We’d put on holiday plays. Marching demonstrations. We had a band. They taught us music and we marched in local parades. We learned first aid.

If my “senior” memory serves me correctly, I had more fun learning the first aid. I was totally enthralled with band-aids and bandages.

Before we thought of blinking, my brother was thirteen and I was eleven, which made my sister four years old.

Christmas was approaching and the owner of the organization and the other adults (whose racks imitated the US Navy, of course) decided we should put on a special show for our parents. This was going to be a big production!

We began our rehearsals in mid-October. Several of the children were chosen as actors. Our play was a mini version of A Christmas Carol. My brother, the ham of the group, was chosen to play Scrooge. I was asked to be in the play but panicked and refused. I was the quiet one in the family and therefore positive I’d forget my lines and be humiliated.

I did, however, read a lengthy Christmas poem – all twenty-six stanzas, my mom had written a few years earlier.

Our band was to play several melodies but not our marching songs. We practiced holiday music and a few other songs my brother came up with.

I need to tell you a bit about my brother. He played the bugle and drums in our band. He preferred the bugle but taught the drums to the younger boys. I played the glockenspiel (or bells as we called them).

My brother could listen to a piece of classical music, sit at the desk in his room, rip apart the symphony and rewrite it for the instruments in our band. That Christmas, we played The Bells of St. Mary’s as well as The William Tell Overture.

Our first aid demonstration would take place after the music was over.

The show began. The play went on without a problem. The actors received a standing ovation. Next came the band and their music.

The William Tell Overture would be the final number and the audience was completely quiet and mesmerized at our talent. Our band played. We played our best, then suddenly from the audience, my four-year old sister, stood on her chair and yelled loudly, HI YOU SILBER!

The audience broke loose and laughed heartily. The band was done. They managed to finish the song, but I doubt the audience heard them.

Next up was the team picked for the fist aid. I was beyond thrilled when I was chosen to be the nurse, not the victim. I’d been practicing for months.

As I demonstrated how to wrap bandages on legs, elbows, shoulders, and hands, everything was going great. Now, I needed to demonstrate a head bandage.

At that point, little miss bigmouth, my sister, stood up again, and yelled, “Mommy, has her got a boo-boo”?

My “patient” doubled over with laughter, the head bandage fell off her head, the shoulder sling loosened and fell off, as did the arm wrap. My mom was so embarrassed, she hung her head and tried to hide.

My “patient” and I, now having nothing more to do, walked off the stage and moved behind the curtain. Irene, my “patient” crossed her legs and said, “I’ve got to get the bathroom before I have an accident.”

The highest-ranking adult, not the owner, but our Commander, Paul, grabbed the microphone and tried to settle the crowd by saying how he and all the cadets appreciated the parents coming to our first annual Christmas show and they could find refreshments downstairs. I often wondered if he was tempted to say: our first and final - but he never did.

Everyone stood and applauded and were still smiling, but I secretly had the impression Paul was glad it was over – at least for that year.