Send help. I’ve officially entered the recorder era of parenting.

I thought I’d be safe until the dreaded fourth grade concert, where 30 kids squeak out “Mary Had a Little Lamb” in unison.

But here I am. TWO YEARS IN! I’ve got a private preview show in my lounge room. Front row seats. No refunds.

Not a prodigy — just… loud

My mom gifted it to him, and I couldn’t help asking, “Do you hate me?”

Pretty sure it’s her revenge for the toy keyboard I tortured her with as a kid. 4

Think Ross in “Friends” playing his “wordless sound poems.”

Barking dogs, lawnmowers, chaos.

Only now, the tables have turned. I’m Chandler. And Mom? She’s Janice. Laugh and all.

There’s no musical gift. It’s just one continuous, shrill note.

He’s no child prodigy in the musically gifted department.

So w

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