Whistle A Happy Tune

Whistle A Happy Tune

As Alby sat in the chair he began to whistle quietly, an unconscious habit he’d had for as long as I could remember. It was soft and gentle and reassuring in its consistency. When Alby whistled, all was well with the world.
He never whistled any particular tune, perhaps because he couldn’t carry one, but I loved to listen nonetheless. It was kind of like the ticking of a clock in its rhythmic comfort and it turned Room Number Seven into a warmer and more palatable place. My mind couldn’t help but wander back. . .

“You’ve got to put your lips together like this,” my father said patiently as we sat together in the backyard and he was teaching me to whistle. “There’s got to be just enough space for the air to get through.”
I tried and tried but all that came out were sprays of spit, most of which landed on him. He gallantly pretended not to notice. This was the third time he was giving me lessons and the third time I was unsuccessful. At six-years-old, I was impatient, unable to sit still, and was always determined to do something my mother didn’t want me to do. I also had an uncanny ability to annoy everyone around me except my father. Because he was always so mellow and relaxed, my personality amused him and he had a real soft spot for me.
My mother pleaded with Alby not to teach me to whistle. “Don’t you know that if she learns it, she’ll never stop?” My mother knew me oh-so-well.
“Pearl, that’s ridiculous. What’s the big deal?” He was sitting on the grey vinyl chair in our Pepto-Bismol-pink kitchen. “She wants to learn how to whistle. I’m not teaching her how to shoot spitballs for goodness sakes!” That would, of course, come later.
“Do what you want Al, but I think it’s a mistake.”
The lessons continued until finally, about two weeks later, I whistled with a minimal amount of salivary mess and danced around proudly as though I had accomplished world peace with a single blow.
Peace, however, was about the last thing that came of these lessons. I whistled everywhere I went, annoying my mother and siblings, and had substituted a whistle for silence at every possible opportunity. Meanwhile, Alby was delighted that I’d mastered the skill and soon we moved on to whistling songs. I learned “Bei Mir Bist du Schon”, a Yiddish tune my grandfather was fond of singing, and blew out the notes with all the gusto my small body could muster.
Then came my mistake and it was a mighty big one. It was during nap time in my kindergarten classroom. Napping, my teacher Miss Jaggers believed, was crucial in the development of our young minds and of critical importance for our intellectual well-being. It didn’t occur to me then that all she wanted was for her students to shut up for awhile so she could have a break.
Nap time? I wanted none of that. To me, resting was reserved for nighttime, in my bed, with my pajamas on and my sister next to me with my mother hollering “Be quiet” up the long stairs of our home. This nonsense of napping during the school day would have to end and I was just the one to end it.
The classroom was quiet as all the dutiful students put their heads on their desks as Miss Jaggers had instructed, and closed their eyes. Ever so surely I felt it coming, welling up from way back in my throat until it squeaked past my lips. A quiet but distinct whistle. Could I help it if the sound happened to travel into my table-mate’s ear? Should I be blamed if she was a light sleeper? Clearly, the answers were yes and yes.
It was very abrupt – a few whistles and I was out of the classroom and sitting in Principal Krumbiegel’s office where I was informed I needed to stay until my parents came for me.
“Your mother and father will be here shortly, Susan. You must stay here until they arrive,” Principal Krumbiegel-with-the-big-ears-and-fearsome-voice said.
What I heard was altogether different. “Your parents are on their way and your mother is going to make you sorry you were ever born. She’ll rip into you like a cleaver into beef and shred you into teeny tiny pieces, leaving you to bleed until there’s nothing left inside of you. And when she’s done with you she’s going to give your father a piece of her mind until he, too, leaves this office a beaten man.”
By the time they got there, I was shaking and it was all I could do not to wet my pants. Pissing off my mother was not a good thing to do and yet, I did it so well. Another feather in my cap, I suppose. They walked in and I couldn’t see my mother’s face because she wouldn’t even look my way. I thought I heard a hissing sound, probably the steam coming from her ears. I was doomed.
And then, I looked over and saw the laughter in Alby’s eyes; he hadn’t cracked a smile but I knew he wanted to in the worst way. It relaxed and appeased me but when my mother spoke I immediately sat up straight in my chair and readied myself to pay the piper.
Principal Krumbiegel reported every detail about how my whistling disturbed my classmates and how, with this warning, the next time I would be removed from my classroom and sent home for days! He made me feel small enough to disappear.
“Susan is very sorry for disturbing her classmates, aren’t you?” Mom said more than asked as she finally turned my way. I guess I hadn’t disappeared after all and almost melted from the fear my mother’s anger could elicit.
“Yes, I’m very sorry.”
“And you’re not going to do this again, are you?” she demanded, wielding her invisible scepter over my bowed head.
“No. I won’t do it again,” I said meekly, hoping beyond hope that I could live up to my word.
“Can I interrupt for a moment?” Alby asked. “It seems to me that this is pretty harsh for such a minor infraction, don’t you think?” He casually rested his right ankle over his left knee and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
What in the world is an infraction? I wondered.
“So she whistled during nap time. She didn’t hurt anyone, she didn’t damage any property. She’s only six and hasn’t learned to tame her impulses. I don’t think she deserves to be made to feel so corrupt. Do you?” Alby’s green eyes bored into Principal Krumbiegel’s.
A dare with words I didn’t quite understand but I loved it!
“Well Mr. Rich,” Principal Krumbiegel interjected, “We cannot have the children do whatever they feel like doing whenever they feel like doing it, can we?”
“Hmm, I’ve got to think about that one. I guess the answer is really another question…can we have the children do what they’re told when they’re told or is it okay to walk over the yellow line sometimes as long as no one gets hurt?” Alby always had a way of getting his message across without sounding impertinent.
“How you choose to raise your child is up to you, Mr. Rich, but I strongly advise you to watch out for this one. She’s trouble.”
After leaving the office we walked toward Alby’s blue Bonneville with the license plate ECO-910, each of my parents holding one of my hands. Mom took small, brisk steps and essentially tried to drag me without ever looking my way while Alby’s strides were slower and calmer. My body nearly ripped in half from the dichotomy.
“Susie Q,” he said as we got into the car. “Just remember something. It’s never wrong to bring a little life to a dull party, but always remember who your host is.” With a wink and a smile he got behind the wheel of the car and as he drove the mile from school to home, he whistled softly the entire way.