A Facebook post led to a fun discussion on whistling.  Who can?  Who can’t?  Is it genetic?  A learned trait?  Who’s to say?  Can you whistle?

I was a sophomore in a basketball game with a bunch of older guys out on the court. We were playing nearby Adrian. Adrian had a big guy, a great athlete. We had all played baseball against him when we were kids, although he towered over us — Dennis Brown. (Always wondered what he might have done in a football uniform if he had transferred to Vega …) We all knew each other’s names. Dennis did something in the game that really impressed me

When our big man, Mike, got a rebound, Dennis was down at the other end of the court and tried to trick Mike … trying to get him to throw the ball to Dennis (the other team). Dennis whistled really loud — one of those whistles that many people have to put their fingers in their mouth to do. Then he yelled, “MI-I-I-I-KE!” Mike was just about to throw the ball, when he realized what happened. He grinned ear-to-ear at the nice try … and then dribbled the ball down the court himself.

Before that day — ever since I was a very young child — I could whistle normally. But that day, I decided to learn to really whistle … LOUD. That summer, during wheat harvest as I drove the combine, hour after hour, I practiced and learned to whistle really loud. The whistle has served me well over the years — never needed a whistle on a string when I coached basketball. I get horses and cows to look up and turn their heads as I zoom by on the motorcycles. My kids always knew where I was in the bleachers during their baseball and basketball games, when I did my whistle to send them an approval for a great play. (I think I actually tricked someone on the other team into throwing me the ball once … but can’t say for sure.)

Ha … I also whistle Dixie as loud as I can when I pass rebel flags on my bike — which seem to be popping up more and more these days along roads throughout the South. (Absolutely nothing to do with race … I love the South.) If I am ever at a rock concert at which I know they are recording, I am queued up and ready to make it on to the recording:) My dogs always knew I was on to them from a few blocks away, when they escaped. … And I sometimes whistle “Charge!” at the most inopportune times:)  In summary, if you have a few extra hours on a combine, I highly recommend you add this to your repertoire:)

Know what I sayin?