I was in third grade when I started playing my first instrument. With so many to choose from, how was a child supposed to pick just one? Does an 8 year olds choice in instrument help foretell their personality? When my brother was of age, he chose the trombone. It fit him. I cannot explain how, it just did. My sister chose the trumpet. She was the most talented of all of us, which is not saying a whole lot. When she decided to quit band, my parents were not thrilled. Both my brother and sister thought band geek was the way to go. I chose the violin. What does a stringed instrument say?
Our elementary school had quite the little orchestra. We had both a winter and a spring concert where we, the talented pool of aficionados, would play our little hearts away. The parents would sit in the audience beaming with pride. I now attribute this to ear plugs. I am not sure how else an auditorium of people could sit through a 2 hour performance of screeching strings in a flat “Silver Bells” or sharp “Here Comes Santa Claus”. I suppose my parents thought I could develop into a prodigy, so they started enrolling me in private lessons over the summer. The lessons did not help at all.
I grew, so did my instrument. I decided the violin was not enough torture for me and my parents, so I graduated to a cello. In fourth grade, my cello and I were the same size. I would have to transport it to school 2 times a week. Tuesdays were orchestra rehearsal, and Thursdays were my individual lesson days. In between, I was supposed to be practicing at home. If by practicing, they meant screaming and crying in my room, I practiced a lot. Like any parents would, mine would sequester me in my room for at least 30 minutes per day to practice. I hated practicing. It was boring. I just wanted to be the adolescent phenom with natural born talent, performing in front of an audience.
Everyone knows the old tale of the grandpa walking to school uphill in the snow, both ways, with no shoes. Did Grandpa have to walk uphill in the snow, carrying a cello? I did. So there, Gramps. Fortunately, the walk home was downhill. Unfortunately, in the winter, the sidewalks were usually covered in ice. I did what any cellist of my caliber would do. I sat on the cello and used it as a sled. I would point the neck of the rented instrument downhill. I then would hop on and let fly. My parents could not understand how my instrument got be so out of tune, especially when I had just had it tuned for my lesson. I would blame it on my brother or sister, and they would get punished for messing with it. “It’s not a toy.” That’s right, it’s a sled.
By the time I reached the seventh grade, all I had to show for my years of cello were pumped up biceps. I could have arm wrestled a gorilla had I wanted to, and stood a chance. It was time to come to terms with my lack of talent in the stringed instrument arena. The only piece I had mastered to date was the music from the attack scene in "Jaws." I would chase my brother around the house playing it and make him cry. When I told me parents I was done with the cello, I am pretty sure I remember them high -fiving. Maybe not, but they were as glad to see that beast go as I was. I never picked up another instrument, aside from the occasional bongo or triangle. They were more my speed. AND, I can kazoo and tambourine like no one you have ever seen!
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