About a week ago, my son came home looking distraught. I asked what was wrong. He had tears in his eyes, bowed his head, and said, “Someone broke into my car and stole my trumpet.”
My heart broke for him.
I was ready to find the person and kill them. I wanted revenge and I wanted desperately to buy him a replacement.
At first he told me that he didn’t want a replacement. That this particular trumpet was the world to him. He played in his first All State Concert with it, after all. He practiced until he made first chair in his school band. This trumpet was not some ordinary trumpet- this trumpet was sentimental, it was his baby.
For the first time in his young life he had found something he loved and something he was really good at.
I knew that we did not have the means to replace it. If we did it wouldn’t be until months, or maybe a year until we could.
He looked at me and said, “What about the Drum Choir?” “What about summer Band Practice?” Then he just cried, and I just held him.
All I could do at the moment was call the police and clean that car! It was disgusting. So disgusting I don’t even feel right posting what the Son of a Bitch did to it!
It took every ounce of humility to start a Go-Fund me account so we could have a new trumpet in his hands by the end of the week. Not to mention that two of my loving co-workers brought in a trumpet to borrow until we could get it replaced.
The amount of support we received was overwhelming, and very heart warming.
I went home on that Monday and I couldn’t wait to show him the trumpets he could borrow, and how we will get him a new trumpet by the end of the week, as a lot of our family and friends donated.
This time, his face was not distraught, and there were no tears in his eyes. All he could do was look at me and say, “I found it.”
“What do you mean you found it.” I was confused.
“I guess my friend had it.”
“I don’t know!” He probably could see the red coming out of my ears.
” You don’t know?” I asked very, very calmly of course.
“I don’t remember putting it in his car, mom.”
“So your friend had it, and you don’t know how, and now you have it back?”
“Yup,” he answered very nonchalant.
A bit of awkward silence.
“As long as you have it back.” I said.
Then I sat down next to him, in that stinky room of his, and I said, “You know son, there are a lot of people who love you and support you.” He nodded.
My son is not one with a lot of words, but I could tell he was touched.
Since then, he has been here with me.
You guys! After all of that, I had to claim the “trumpet was recovered” and many people were so ecstatic and excited and asked how it was recovered. I didn’t want to talk about it. Life is hard and we sometimes do some really messed up stuff. And sometimes we forget where we put our valuables.
After all that, there was no climax to the story- no guns were fired, no late night stake outs, no interrogating suspects. Just a kid who forgot where he placed his trumpet.
Thank you to all who gave so generously and without any judgement. Love truly wins.
And Thank you Prozac and Wine! You help me deal with teenage boys!