Last week as I was leaving for work, I looked over to see the broken snow blower ready to be picked up for repair. To be honest, it irritates me that we own a snow blower, or, more to the point, it irritates me that we need to own a snow blower. Furthermore, I’m not even sure that it’s broken. I have long suspected that my husband doesn’t really know how to use it. (Our neighbor, Mary, probably suspects this too, since she is usually the one to clear our driveway. I’m fairly certain her husband doesn’t know how to use it either!) Anyway, on that particular morning, the snow blower represented everything I find hard about living in South Dakota, primarily, that I’m cold All THE TIME. Usually I handle it better, but I think I was extra sensitive that morning because the night before a friend from Arkansas, suggested that Yankee living had made me “snippy.” I wanted to yell “I AM NOT A YANKEE!” through the computer, but I thought that sounded, you know, a little snippy. So instead, I calmly explained to him that Yankees live in New York or Boston or wherever. I am a Southerner living in the Midwest. And, aside from the 30 or 40 inches of snow we’ve had (and the fact that Midwesterners drink milk with, like, every meal (as opposed to iced tea,) they don’t like grits, cheese or otherwise and they think a toboggan is a sled) well, aside from that, there are actually very few differences between the two cultures.

So what does all this have to do with Kindermusik? I’m not really sure, actually, except to say that when I finally crawl out from the snow and the ice, when we start making music and I’m surrounded by my little ones---miraculous babies who are learning to crawl, joy-filled toddlers who are starting to talk and sing, and fearless pre-schoolers who are just these tiny, emerging little humans who will someday change the world, well, then, there in the midst of our weekly Kindermusik ritual , the cultural differences that are sometimes so huge in my head start to fade. Children don’t care that Miss Myra says “y’all” instead of “you guys”. Children don’t care that I don’t know what a hot dish is and that I’m not a Vikings fan. As a matter of fact, in an effort to reach out and bridge the cultural divide, I teach my Young Child students how to call the Hogs! (If you think about it, it’s quite musical…..we go high with a glissando, we crescendo, we are calling in our forte voice…you get the idea.) Anyway, children don’t care about our differences...they don’t even notice them...and perhaps neither should I.

So that same morning, as the children were leaving class, a 2 year old little boy turned back and, at the last minute, said, “I’ll miss you, Miss Myra!” I’m pretty sure it was all the trains that we played with that’s he’s going to miss, but I’ll take it. I love my job as a Kindermusik teacher. I love that “my” children run to give me hugs, and that they sit on my lap and dance with me. I’m pretty sure my friend from Arkansas would agree that I’ve never really been considered “cool”, but I think I’ve found my niche with the 2 year old crowd. Toddlers think I’m pretty hip, and I’ll tell you, it’s hard to be snippy when you have a job like that!