The Jake Chronicles 3 – Music Lesson with Uncle Tate
Mom and Aunt Isabelle are helping Michelle plan a surprise for Uncle Tyler so Uncle Tate volunteered to give us our music lesson today. He’s been looking in the hall closet for instruments for the last half hour but I don’t think he knows Aunt Isabelle just plays her violin for us and gives us snacks. He’s been busy lately getting ready for his world tour but he seems a little more frazzled than usual. It may have something to do with meeting his future in-laws. I heard mom tell dad that Aunt Isabelle’s parents were going to be joining the family for Uncle Tate’s last concert date in Las Vegas and he was more nervous than a pig at a barbecue restaurant. Whatever that means.
“Boys that fancy violin Aunt Isabelle plays is fine but if you want to be a hit with the ladies, you’re gonna need to learn to play the guitar. But we’ll start with the basics.” Tate said as he came out of the hall closet with the box of the My First Band musical instruments he bought them over the summer. “Jake, you get the trumpet. Connor you’re on the drums. And Colby will get the cymbals.”
“Uncle Tate, juice please.” Connor smiled.
“And a cookie.” Colby added.
“Now boys, we haven’t gotten started yet and you want to take a break. I know Aunt Isabelle spends more time kissing on you than getting the lesson done, but we’re going to change that today.” He shook his head. “Juice and cookies coming up. Try to behave while I’m gone. I got my eye on you, even from the kitchen.”
“Which eye Uncle Tate?” Jake asked.
The twins have a reputation for being a handful. Uncle J.J. was right. I do spend a lot of time keeping them out of trouble. Last week Connor took dad’s cell phone and had been talking to the owner of the Titans for fifteen minutes before anyone found him. Mom was embarrassed but Mr. Fontane said it was OK and that Connor made a verbal agreement with him to play for the Titans when he grew up. Mom didn’t believe that part.
Connor grabbed the remote off the coffee table as soon as his uncle went into the kitchen. He was punching buttons until the entertainment channel came on and Tate’s picture appeared on the screen.
“Uncle Tate!” The boys yelled.
“What’s wrong?” Tate flew into the room.
The boys pointed to the screen so he turned up the volume.
“Everyone’s talking about this hot item today. Glacinda McElroy admitted that her latest chart topping tune “Wayward Cowboy” was penned after a torrid but brief affair with country western superstar Tate McGill a few years ago. In the interview she details how heartbroken she was when she learned he was getting married. The news of Tate’s impending nuptials has been sending women into a tizzy for months and we’re all dying to know when he’s going to tie the knot.” The reporter added a wink at the end.
Tate could feel the laser beam stares coming from his nephews. “Boys, Uncle Tate wasn’t always an angel. There were a few women before I met Aunt Isabelle.”
The boys’ grievous looks didn’t waver.
“OK, more than a few but that’s all behind me now. The Blake men are known for having scandalous pasts. Even your daddy.”
Way to throw dad under the bus Uncle Tate. The twins were mad at him for a week because he smiled at the nurse who handed him an appointment card at our pediatrician’s office.
“New plan boys. We’re going on a field trip to get Aunt Isabelle a big bouquet of flowers.” Tate looked for his keys. “Maybe we’ll stop by the jewelry store and get some diamond studded ear plugs to send to her parents.”
Uncle Tate’s never been in love before and he panics when he thinks Aunt Isabelle may hear something that may change her mind about him. But we all know how much she loves him. She gives him a kiss even when he hasn’t done anything good. Mom says that they’re perfect for each other and that Uncle Lucas will come around. Maybe I can help him out. She loves raspberries.
“Uncle Tate, can we get Aunt Isabelle some raspberries too?”
“You bet. She loves them. Thanks Jake.” Tate smiled.
Hope you enjoyed Jake’s outing with his Uncle Tate!
Until next time,
Copyright © 2014 Rhonda Laurel. All Rights Reserved.