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One day in third grade a woman came to our class to tell us that she would be offering violin lessons to anyone interested, and she brought along one of her students to play a little demonstration. She had a sign-up form, but I wasn’t particularly interested so I didn’t sign up. However, when I went home I did tell my parents about the visitor, and they immediately asked “why didn’t you sign up?” “I want to play guitar!” was my response: eight years old was old enough to know that guitar was cool, and, partly inspired by the bass guitarist from the church’s folk group, partly inspired by listening to popular music in general, I liked to pretend that I could play guitar. My parents said no, that I should go back and tell my teacher I wanted to sign up for the violin lessons, and they said that if I learned violin now I could learn guitar later. Being eight, I thought of that as cause and effect—if I take violin lessons now, I will learn guitar later—and the idea of learning an instrument was still neat, so I agreed.
To this day, I don’t know what made my parents insist that I should sign up for violin lessons. As I said, I had enjoyed pretending to play guitar and was interested in music in general, but I don’t recall asking about taking guitar lessons before that point, or any other discussion with my parents about learning an instrument. I know that my older sister decided to learn piano around that time, although I don’t recall for sure who started learning an instrument first, her or me. Despite my initial indifference to signing up for lessons, I did think violin was cool for something of an odd reason: I was a fan of Thomas Jefferson, after seeing the musical 1776 and reading a children’s biography of him, and he played the violin. In any case, I still see this as a surprising development in my life, an unexpected path that appeared and I was sent down.
The violin teacher must have thought great, some kid being pushed into lessons he’s not interested in, but still she agreed to take me on. I think I started out renting a violin from a local music store, although maybe we bought it; in any case it was a cheap small violin. I remember that initially I was sharing lessons with another kid or two, although I forget exactly who that was. A couple of the students and I played a few basic songs for a school-wide talent show, which I think happened when I was in fourth grade; I remember happily asking for the microphone to announce the song titles, and then having a friend ask me afterward what I said because he couldn’t understand me. (In fairness, the titles were just the Italian names of the dances—”gavotte”, for instance—so the confusion may have had more to do with the unfamiliarity than my speech impediments.) I know I played around a lot when practicing at home, and occasionally I’d fuss about having to practice, but whenever my mom would suggest that maybe I should stop taking lessons in that case, I would grumble but keep practicing.
The key moment in my musical development came near the end of fifth grade, if I recall correctly. My teacher had judged that I’d made enough progress to start playing with the string ensemble. This was a group that included her students, some cello students and their teacher, and some other adult string players. We met after school in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium, I sat with the second violins, and we started working on some music. The most astonishing thing happened: suddenly I was inside the music. I could hear all four parts at once and understood how they fit together. I could listen for the cellos to play a bit and know that meant that my part was coming up. I could follow along in my sheet music and see where the first violins would play a particular line, or know when the violas were playing the same part that we seconds were. I remember going home and telling my mom excitedly all about this wonderful experience of hearing everything going on all at once and being part of making that happen.
That, I think, is when I truly fell in love with music. It’s certainly the experience that kept me playing the violin for years afterward, continuing with lessons right through high school and then joining the amateur orchestra she led—an evolution of that same string ensemble—after that. I don’t believe that my parents really knew or expected I would have such an experience or stay devoted to playing the violin so many years, but I’m glad that they did push me to learn.
To this day, I don’t know what made my parents insist that I should sign up for violin lessons. As I said, I had enjoyed pretending to play guitar and was interested in music in general, but I don’t recall asking about taking guitar lessons before that point, or any other discussion with my parents about learning an instrument. I know that my older sister decided to learn piano around that time, although I don’t recall for sure who started learning an instrument first, her or me. Despite my initial indifference to signing up for lessons, I did think violin was cool for something of an odd reason: I was a fan of Thomas Jefferson, after seeing the musical 1776 and reading a children’s biography of him, and he played the violin. In any case, I still see this as a surprising development in my life, an unexpected path that appeared and I was sent down.
The violin teacher must have thought great, some kid being pushed into lessons he’s not interested in, but still she agreed to take me on. I think I started out renting a violin from a local music store, although maybe we bought it; in any case it was a cheap small violin. I remember that initially I was sharing lessons with another kid or two, although I forget exactly who that was. A couple of the students and I played a few basic songs for a school-wide talent show, which I think happened when I was in fourth grade; I remember happily asking for the microphone to announce the song titles, and then having a friend ask me afterward what I said because he couldn’t understand me. (In fairness, the titles were just the Italian names of the dances—”gavotte”, for instance—so the confusion may have had more to do with the unfamiliarity than my speech impediments.) I know I played around a lot when practicing at home, and occasionally I’d fuss about having to practice, but whenever my mom would suggest that maybe I should stop taking lessons in that case, I would grumble but keep practicing.
The key moment in my musical development came near the end of fifth grade, if I recall correctly. My teacher had judged that I’d made enough progress to start playing with the string ensemble. This was a group that included her students, some cello students and their teacher, and some other adult string players. We met after school in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium, I sat with the second violins, and we started working on some music. The most astonishing thing happened: suddenly I was inside the music. I could hear all four parts at once and understood how they fit together. I could listen for the cellos to play a bit and know that meant that my part was coming up. I could follow along in my sheet music and see where the first violins would play a particular line, or know when the violas were playing the same part that we seconds were. I remember going home and telling my mom excitedly all about this wonderful experience of hearing everything going on all at once and being part of making that happen.
That, I think, is when I truly fell in love with music. It’s certainly the experience that kept me playing the violin for years afterward, continuing with lessons right through high school and then joining the amateur orchestra she led—an evolution of that same string ensemble—after that. I don’t believe that my parents really knew or expected I would have such an experience or stay devoted to playing the violin so many years, but I’m glad that they did push me to learn.
