It’s Okay to Blow Your Own Horn Sometimes

Have you been told not to get a big head? It's okay to believe in yourself.

My dad was a cool trumpet player and a kid-empowering math teacher.

This is a picture of Dad and me in 1959 in the backyard of my grandparents’ home at the corner of 12th Avenue North and Broadway in Fargo.

From his jazzy blue hat, to the reddish jacket and matching shirt, Dad was cool. Endearingly so because he didn’t know he was cool. He always thought the other guy was.

Do you know someone like him? Is it you?

Like Charlie Brown and his creator Charles Schulz, Dad suffered from anxiety of not believing he was good enough. Whether he was earning multiple master’s degrees in mathematics, breaking through to kids in classrooms, or playing trumpet in a dance band on weekend nights, this math whiz and musical artist never thought he was good enough.

But I know he was.

I have eyes, ears, and nose memories of Dad serenading us on his trumpet in the basement near the dryer, washer, and drain, while Mom, with one hand, stirred some hamburger dish on the stove in our small galley kitchen, and with the other hand, refereed eight children as we teased, fought and played in our shoebox sized front room.

The notes that flowed through Dad’s 1933 Golden Paris Selmer Trumpet were pure and big band magical as they lofted up through the hardwood floor boards and in between our 16 stomping, kicking and hopping stocking feet. Although Dad’s basement signature song was Benny Goodman and Martha Tilton’s “When the Angels Sing,” when he donned his tie and jacket to perform in a Fargo-based dance band, the group’s signature song was Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls.”

Now, I end my parade down memory lane with a metaphor for life that may ring true for you.

Throughout the 1960s and 70s, Dad played second trumpet behind an extraordinarily talented player by the name of Francis Colby in the Paul Hanson Orchestra. Francis was an excellent player and he knew it. Being and knowing that you are excellent gets you to the first seat in the trumpet section. Being excellent but not believing gets you to second chair or less.

Dad thought Francis' tone was better than his own, and maybe it was. Bless him—Francis had tone, style, and skill. But I remember Dad's style and skill was undeniable as well when he soloed in our basement. His tone was simply pure and matched the best trumpeters we listened to on his "78" records. He played with abandon in the comfort of his home; he played second trumpet in public.

While Grandpa Stoa always said, “Don’t get a big head Tussy,” I believe there is a healthy balance between blowing your own horn and taking your true seat with your abilities.

So here’s to you and me blowing our own horns sometimes, and to always celebrating our gifts and others' gifts.

A final comment. Dad passed in 1998. To this day, I can hear him playing to his potential up there. And “When the Angels Sing” is still my favorite.

Judi Stoa's Donchyaknow Life Lessons to see and bring out the best in yourself and others

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