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Tuba Lessons and Cold Air Intakes

When I was 6 years old, I started taking tuba
lessons.  Not  by  choice  of  course.Just then, I noticed my teacher's Lamborghini
Diablo sitting in the driveway. (Evidently
My parents had read an article about someTuba instructors are raking it in.)The car
super-baby who joined college at the age of 6had just had an amazing new cold air intake
and at the age of 7 became a renownedsystem put in and it was ready to race. No
astrophysicist. They figured that ol' juniortime to hesitate, I told myself. It's now or
could use some mental development as well.never.
They probably went a little overboard. First
they got me a language tutor, then a chessI threw my tuba aside and jumped into the
instructor and then they even started to playcar.
Mozart during dinner time! Finally came the
tuba  lessons.The engine roared, and suddenly I was off,
tearing down the street at 150 mph. I
At first it was fun. The instrument wascouldn't really see over the wheel to where I
almost as big as I was, and I loved blastingwas going but that didn't matter-speed was
into it until I fell from the chairthe most important thing at that point. I
unconscious. But my tuba instructor didn'tslowed down later, driving over people's
take kindly to my random noises. He held tubalawns and making my way toward the coast. I
playing to be a sacred art, one worthy of thefelt  great.
utmost  respect.
As I headed toward the ocean, I had to drive
Every Saturday morning he would come to myalong the edges of some cliffs, and that's
house with a bundle of papers - sheet musicwhere I got into trouble. While trying to
and scales that he would make me practicemake a fast turn, I lost control and the car
endlessly. Before I began, he would pull outspun off the road and over a cliff. I fell a
an old hourglass, give me a stern look, andthousand feet into a ravine and the car
then tip it over. If I made too many mistakesexploded into an enormous fireball. Luckily,
in a row, he would grunt and start thethe force of the blast ejected me from the
hourglass again from the beginning. It wascar and flung me back up to the top of the
torture. One Saturday, I had to play hotravine  where  I  lay  unscathed.
cross  buns  for  two  straight  hours!
I made the 11pm news. The authorities
My mind grew numb over time and I only wanteddescribed me as a 'precocious miscreant'. I
to escape. One day, I asked to be excused totold the cops that my teacher asked me to
empty my spit valve and tried to think of adestroy the car for insurance purposes. They
plan. There was no way I was going back in topromptly arrested him and gave him a life
face  that hourglass. But what could be done?sentence.  Problem  solved!
I could rush my teacher, ram the tuba overSure, my parents yelled at me for a couple of
his head and then make my escape, but thehours, but I think they were secretly proud
sound of this violence would probably get mythat I had been called 'precocious'.
parents'  attention…



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