Marley: Our son is musical, I don't know if I will keep up with it anymore

My daughter takes dance classes at a cultural center here in the city

One afternoon, they had 'workshops' for elementary school children. There was someone from the theater, from the dance club, and there was a gentleman with all sorts of musical instruments. I was sitting quietly waiting for my daughter's class to end. Until suddenly I heard the man with the musical instruments shout: 'Whose boy is this?' Then a bell started to ring in my head (I heard a lot of bells ringing, which later turned out to be my own son, who was already trying out all the instruments). Oh! My son! That's right, I had brought him along. I was afraid he was disrupting the workshop, so I kept quiet, sheepishly smiling at the other mothers. 'Ha, another child who doesn't want to listen,' I called out. But when my son came running towards me enthusiastically with samba balls in his hands, I could no longer deny it. 'Yes, he's mine,' I said, feeling ashamed.

But there was no reprimand from the music teacher, on the contrary

He had never seen such a musical and rhythmic 2-year-old before. I was astounded. Look, he sings all day long, thinks everything is a drum, and even dances to the beat of a pile driver, but this man even called him talented. He very rarely saw anything like it and I had to assure him to start with music lessons. I was glowing with pride, of course. My son, the new talent. That afternoon, I immediately started looking for toddler music classes. There it was, every Wednesday morning for an hour, playfully getting acquainted with music and instruments. My friend, himself a quite skilled guitarist, also saw potential. Our son, a musical talent. We must nurture that, it's also good for the development of his brain. We would take turns going to music class. He would get to know music, maybe even classical, he would learn to play the piano, the new Mozart would arise. Before he turns four, he'll be playing the violin and he might participate in Britain's Got Talent. We were getting ahead of ourselves.

When I arrived at the music class, I saw a woman wearing cow slippers

She stood in the doorway with her hand puppet, singing to welcome everyone. I asked her where the music class was. For my talented son. Without answering, she pushed us inside and we had to sit in a circle. On the floor. With our shoes off. I saw no piano, let alone a violin. As if on cue, everyone started the welcome song at the same time. My son didn't know it yet, but he clapped along as if it were his anthem. Then it was time for the other songs, almost all accompanied by either a hand puppet or another prop such as ribbons or small bells. When I asked when it was time for the introduction of the wind instrument, the teacher, along with her hand puppet, started the farewell song. And again, my son clapped and danced as if he were on a world tour with Beyonce. All the parents and children left satisfied and happy. I didn't tell anything at home, letting my partner believe that next week they would jam together nicely. A bit of freestyling. Maybe our son is a musical talent. But his parents are done with the teacher in her cow slippers.

MARLEY