When I was small, my parents had an old violin as decoration. I used to take it down and "play" it, although it was so old and dried out that it really wasn't a music-maker. I took piano lessons for years, plus was assigned clarinet as a 4th grader (girls were only allowed flute or clarinet, and I was dubbed appropriate for clarinet.) I was pretty darn good at piano, if I do say so myself, but it wasn't a super-passion of mine. I ended up quitting when dance took over my after-school time. (But to this day, I can't resist playing a few of my favorite pieces when I find a piano.)
Last year, my oldest son selected violin for his in-school music. He is now taking lessons once a week after-school as well. He has the same relationship with his violin that I did with piano: plenty of hemming and hawing about practicing, but then occasionally becoming pretty darn proud. Although he'll frown when I ask him to practice, sometimes I'll hear him privately playing behind the closed door of his bedroom. If I were to ever let on that I know his secret, these clandestine sessions might end, though.
He's a math whiz, so it doesn't surprise me that the composition of music and the various patterns within is intriguing to him. He's used online programs to both replicate and slightly alter some of his violin pieces. He loves transposing and playing with tempo. (But again, I wouldn't dare comment on this interest.)
This afternoon my youngest son had soccer practice. It happened to be on the same campus where my old piano teacher's kids went to school three decades ago. I'm getting over a chest cold and am just now feeling the urge to be "active" so I decided to take a brisk walk around the neighborhood rather than sitting on my behind during the duration of the practice.
Of course I found myself walking towards my old piano teacher's house. As night fell, I got closer. It was nearly pitch black by the time I got to her house. I remember how when I quit piano I was too sad (embarrassed) to face her in person, so hid in the car while my mom delivered the news that I was no longer available for lessons. I cried a great deal that day. It felt funny to be standing right in that spot so many years later.
I nodded a little, to physically acknowledge the significance of this spot of earth. I thought about how music has been part of my life, from piano to singing, to using it as accompaniment for many, many years of dance. I thought about how when I went to classical concerts, I'd occasionally be bored out of my mind, but as I learned to appreciate (and very much enjoy) such performances as I got older. Hey, I even got kissed by flutist Jean-Pierre Rampal!
As I walked back to campus to watch the last moments of soccer practice, I thought about how my oldest son is tonight at the San Francisco Symphony listening to brilliant violinist Joshua Bell. Although on the days leading up to this night, he's talked about how bored he anticipates he'll be, I caught him smiling as he waited for his grandparents to take him away. He dressed up in fancy clothes with absolutely no complaints, and made sure his hair looked great. He whispered, "I think this might be fun," to nobody in particular, even though to me he again said, "I hope I'm not bored." But I think I saw a wink.
I'm hoping tonight is a night he remembers, even if it won't mean as much to him now as it might later.
