Yes, Virginia, Old Women Do Drum

For most of my adult life, I was the one wandering around the music store while my husband then my sons drooled over, bought, sold or traded musical instruments. Making music was something I watched other folks do; it was not something I saw myself doing.

Making music was like preaching in that it was something I watched other folks do; it was not something I saw myself doing.

Come to think if it , I never saw myself leading worship either. Years ago, when I was considering going into ministry, the United Methodist Church had in place mentorships and search guidance for those wrestling with a call to ministry. The process and the folks who helped during that were immensely helpful and encouraging. One of the questions set me back immediately, though: Do you see yourself preaching, leading worship, serving communion? I had to say then that I had no vision of that but I also knew that was in part because I could not remember ever seeing a woman in that role in any of the churches I’d attended throughout my six decades. My mentor at the time suggested I visit several churches where women were pastors. I did and it was immensely helpful and enlightening but that’s a story for another day. The point is it was not until I was actually leading the whole worship service, until I “tried that on,” that I realized I was in the right place after all.

Many of my life decisions have been made after “trying on” a decision, though, and that’s how it happened with drumming. Sometimes all I have to do is say that’s what I’m gonna do for whatever it is then sit with the decision for a bit only to realize that doesn’t feel right after all. In other areas, I have needed to “act as if” and try the new activity or behavior on for a while before having that moment when it becomes clear I’m indeed in the right place.

Drumming, real drumming and not just playing at it for me has been like that. Sure, it’s been fun to play along with music at home alone, but the path to playing with others in a way that they recognize me as a drummer has been emotionally tough AND emotionally satisfying.

Seriously, when it feels like my drumming contributes to making the music richer, I just feel joy. Plenty of folks have found it amusing or at least surprising and even ask, why now, after more than fifty years of life.

I get it: I never saw myself as a drummer before that age. I did always consider myself a dancer. (I honestly never understood why other people didn’t feel the urge to start dancing when the music started.)

“Other than hitting things with sticks, what’s the draw?”

I did get pretty defensive when a guy I’d met asked me what I did for hobbies and I mentioned I’d taken up drumming. He thought that was amusing and even had the nerve to ask a stupid question. (See above.) I am proud I resisted the urge to tell him to come by some time when I had some drumsticks in my hand and I’d answer his question properly. I just told myself if he had to ask, he wouldn’t understand, so let’s just change the subject.

Ironically, I also took up ballroom dancing in my fifties but no one thought that was strange timing. Some folks did think it was strange in general and one of my supervisors asked me why on earth but mostly that was because his only experience with social dancing, ballroom dancing was “Dancing with the Stars.” I’m pretty sure he couldn’t see me in a ballgown and high heels. Me either. I’m just grateful ballroom dancing is much more than one television show.

The guy asking about hitting things with sticks wasn’t alone, though. Apparently, even if I could’ve explained this desire to drum that hit me in my fifth decade of life, most folks would have just been skeptical at best. It took me nearly two years to find a drum teacher, for example; I don’t know if folks just dismissed the idea of an old lady learning drums but I did finally secure a teacher and she never blinked twice. I don’t know if she realized how nervous I was at first about playing even a simple paradiddle or tumbao in front of someone else but she kept nudging me and I got over my shyness. By the time she got transferred to another college town, though, I had developed enough courage to walk into a music store and sign up with a teacher there and, when my lesson time came, wedged between a nine-year-old and a fifteen-year-old, I was able to proudly walk into the studio. A year later, while watching the song leader of a small start-up church try to provide some percussion with her guitar, I was able to offer to play some basic percussion and, for the first time, I was one of the regular musicians for worship. My heart was full.

“I always love meeting ‘girl’ drummers.”

Nothing rivals the feeling of people in a jam group asking me to return because they really enjoy having percussion or, and this is likely a high point of my life, being praised as a girl drummer. A professional musician playing in a jam circle several years ago at one of our veterans and songwriters’ retreats looked over after we’d all jammed on a few songs and said, “I always love meeting girl drummers.” I did not care one bit that he called me a girl drummer and that’s gonna surprise folks who know me. I was so happy to be called a drummer, I think I floated home that night.



I’m sharing this in part because my journey to claiming that I am a drummer was much more of an emotional journey than I would have imagined. Don’t let that stop you. Today, I can say I’m grateful to the retreat leader who led the drum circle and encouraged us to learn to drum “just because.” I’m grateful to the first drumming teacher who was willing to take me seriously and begin my lessons. I am extremely grateful to Matt, the teacher at the music store who enthusiastically said, “YOU ARE a drummer and no one can take that from you.” I’m grateful I didn’t wait until I knew everything there was to know about playing before I tried it .

I don’t have to know everything there was to know about percussion before I can claim to be a drummer.

I will be learning until I die. It is freeing to realize that I don’t have to know everything there was to know about percussion before I can claim to be a drummer. This month, for my 64th birthday, my incredible husband gave me congas, for example. We had discovered a group that plays every Saturday morning at a flea market and they invite others to join in but I was, not surprisingly, a bit hesitant just to jump in. They have a regular drummer who plays a drum kit – a full drum set – usually and another who plays Congas, a guy named Papa Louie. Papa Louie has probably been playing for decades but then again, maybe not. I’ll ask. Either way, he’s been encouraging when I stop by and said most recently, “You need to either get comfortable on the congas or learn washboard. We need both.” He never wondered if I could learn. He assumed I could learn if wanted to learn. I’m learning congas so I will be able to walk up with confidence and join the music-making. If you know someone with a musical washboard, though….

Papa Louis never wondered if I could learn. He assumed I could learn if wanted to learn.

And that’s what it is about for me – being able to make music is intoxicating. Being allowed to join in, feeling like I can contribute to the music, hearing what others are doing and feeling like what I’m doing is enhancing the music gives me joy, makes me happy, and makes me want more.

The joy of contributing to the music is something many of us have been jealous of for most of our lives. I can’t help but think that is, in part, because we so seldom now need to make our own music at home. We don’t harmonize in the evening, telling one child to “chew on that note for a bit,” while singing an old Gospel tune. We no longer hand our children those spoons or tambourines or dulcimers or washboards and teach them basic tunes and rhythms. And we no longer push back the rugs, throw back our heads and lift up those voices in joy while grandma and the children dance about.

One of the best parts of being human is making music, though, and that seemed, for most of my life, like something only certain people got to do, people who knew they were musicians as children and started taking lessons as children. So, every year of my life the possibility seemed further and further out of my reach. Don’t worry; I don’t expect to ever be a professional player. Being a professional musician does require much more than what I can do and takes hours of lessons and practice. I freely admit that. But I CAN keep a beat and I CAN contribute to the music. And so can you.

“Put that harmonica away, child, til you learn how to play it !!”(This is the caption to an old cartoon I remember – makes me cringe.)

I encourage you to try in some way to join in the music even if you are old like me!! Ha! I will be forever grateful to the members of jam sessions who welcome those who are learning, to musicians who take time to teach and encourage new students to play along and who are patient as they learn. And I wish I could go back and thank the leader of that drum circle at the veterans’ retreat who asked us to promise to pursue drumming after we were home. Thanks. I figure you paid it forward or you knew how much joy drumming can be or both. Either way, thanks, brother; I’m gonna try to pass it on, too.