In the beginning . . .

If You Can Talk, You Can Sing

When I was a child, there was no question as to whether or not I would be involved in music.  The only thing I had to decide was how I would be involved in music.  My father and his guitar were the hit of every "family party", and I learned early that everyone loves a musician.  Anytime we went out, people would ask me if dad had brought his guitar along.  Dad would always wait until someone twisted his arm, but then he would sing and play all night.   People would join in and sing along.  Sometimes someone would show up with a harmonica, banjo, or another guitar.  No matter who was there, or where we were, it was always a great time.

By the time I was 4 or 5, dad was trying to teach me to sing harmony.  Let's just say that it was a miserable failure.  However, never one to back down from a challenge, dad was determined to bring me into the "act".  He chose a song by Red Sovine which had a small melody part that I could sing by myself.  Titled, "Daddy's Girl" it was the perfect selection for a duo like us.  He added it to the repertoire, and the die were cast.

I cannot remember the first time we sang Daddy's Girl for an audience, but I do remember that every single time I sang it, I completely stole the show.  It's common knowledge that it really doesn't matter what a kid does on stage -- people are bound to love it, good or bad.   Granted, we were never on a "stage", usually we were in the middle of a garage, club house, or living room, but those early ego boosts were very likely the source of my current itch to perform.  Friends and relatives would snatch me from playing and send me up to sing.  Sometimes, I would even receive a quarter for my trouble.  It truly was big fun.

As I got older, I began to realize that God did not ever intend for me to be a singer.  I was fortunate that I had a pretty easy part in our family song, but I became more and more self-conscious about my ability.  I also felt that my days as daddy's girl were long behind me and I began to strongly resist having to sing such childish lyrics.  Somewhere around that time, dad must have begun resisting the urge to sing, because for reasons I don't remember, the social singing came to a swift decline.

Moving Onward and Upward to the Piano

As I grew, my musical sensibilities began to develop despite my lack of formal instruction.  I had a little two-octave piano that I had received when I was very young, on which I would hammer out "original compositions" for piano and voice all day long.  When I was 8 or 9, I realized that the numbers in a Keymonica songbook corresponded with the notes of the major scale, 1 being C, 2 being D, 3 being E, and so on.  (Not that I had any clue what a major scale was.)  With a little exploration of the keyboard, I found that I could play Mary Had a Little Lamb, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, etc., just by following the numbers in the book.  I took a pencil and wrote the numbers one through eight on the white keys, and suddenly I was a virtuoso!  I felt like I had cracked a secret code.  It was so much fun that I asked my parents if we could get a piano.  I guess that was the cue they had been waiting for, because they had one delivered the next weekend.

I really enjoyed playing the piano.  Lessons were another story.  My first piano teacher was a sweet hearted minister's wife.  She taught me for one year with loving guidance and considerate correction.  But then she moved away.  Upon someone's recommendation (maybe Satan?) I began taking lessons from a bitter, nasty woman who occasionally worked as a substitute music teacher at school.  From the first lesson to the last, every time I left her house I was in tears.  I suppose that she was just trying to be an effective instructor, but looking back on it, her demeanor was was a mixture of disgust and frustration.  If my first teacher hadn't been so wonderful, I might not have been as susceptible to the barbs of this woman.  But, as it stood, I had no desire to continue as her student.  Frankly, the whole experience was traumatic enough that I didn't want to continue lessons at all.  My parents continued to buy music books, and I began self-instructing by reading them at home.  Although I love to play the piano, you will most likely NEVER see me touch a keyboard in public.  I can play enough to have a good time, but not enough to perform.  Too bad I didn't keep up with the lessons. 

Getting Closer to the Real Thing

My brother Russ is six years older than me. He has been playing the drums for as long as I can remember. I know that he got his start in the elementary band, but he was a huge success from the very beginning. I can remember people piling into our basement to hear him play solos on his snare drum. (How good do you have to be to pull that off? Have you ever listened to a snare drum solo???) Anyway, he was good enough to draw a crowd before he was 12 years old. As a teenager, he was getting standing ovations.

I knew from watching my brother that elementary band was going to be "big" for me.  The attention I craved was out there waiting, but what instrument would deliver me to the spotlight?  I knew it was an important decision, and I gave it a lot of thought.  Whenever I would hear an interesting sound in a song, I would ask my brother what I was hearing.  Sometimes it was a piano or a violin, things that just weren't an option in a school band.  But soon, a pattern emerged, and more and more often, the sound which caught my attention was the saxophone.   

I can distinctly remember the first few days of fourth grade band.  Stations were set up for all of the different instruments, and we were allowed to play each one. After careful deliberation, I still had no idea which instrument I wanted to choose.  The only one I had been able to eek out a sound on was the trombone, and yet I could not picture myself as a trombone player.  I thought the sax was interesting, but I had no luck blowing through the reed.  The trumpet only had three "keys".  Definitely too boring (if only I'd known then what I know now).  The clarinet was a great little-girl instrument, but those spots went quickly, and we already had more kids signed up for clarinet than anything else.

My decision was made for me when I looked at the price list for the various instruments.  A saxophone was the most expensive one on the list, selling new for over $500.00.  Good grief!  We didn't have $500.  Being the pragmatist that I was (and still am) I scanned the list for the least expensive instrument.  That was a flute, which cost around $200.  As it turned out, we only had three flute players, and they were three of the most fun girls in the fourth grade.  So, I decided to join them.  I began my musical career as a floutist.  

Proving that there is always a bargain to be had if you hunt long enough, my mother found a deep-discount flute advertised in the classifieds.  It had seen several generations of flute players through from beginner to high school, and let's just say that it showed its age.  The pads were less than perfect and keys would occasionally stick.  Something was usually wrong with it.  

I played the flute faithfully for 2 and a half years, and then one day I announced that I was FINISHED.  I'd had enough of that ridiculous flute.  The teacher was always having to fix it, and I wasn't very good on it.  The girls in my section were fiercely competitive (ya know, like 12-year-old girls) and I was making myself crazy trying to be successful on an instrument that just DID NOT inspire me.  One of my good friends was in study hall (the alternative to band) and she was getting her homework done AND having a blast goofing around at the same time.  I was ready to join her.

I told my mom that I wanted to quit 6th grade band.  I expected a battle, but she was unusually calm about the whole thing.  She said, "okay."  That was all.  Then she added, "If we bought you a new flute, would that change your mind?"  I gave it a moment's thought and told her that it would not.  The thought of a new instrument was tempting, but . . . no.   Then she asked me, "Would you like to try playing something else?"  Again, I gave her a negative response.  I was looking forward to study hall.

I went to my room, relieved that I had been able to get out of band so easily.  But a thought came back to me.  I had originally wanted to play the sax.  I had no idea how we would ever afford one, but if she was ready to pony up with a new horn . . . .  It might be worth a try.  

Surprisingly, my request for a saxophone was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm.  My dad said that he would far rather pay $500 for a sax than $200 for a flute.  Any day.  Within a week, dad brought home my brand-new Bundy, and nothing was ever mentioned about the expense.

At Last

I loved that Bundy from the very first time I played it.  The transition from flute to sax was pretty simple, and my perspective on band changed dramatically.  Socially, the sax players were MUCH more laid back than the flute players.  (That's probably a universal truth.)  

Musically, I found playing the saxophone to be very rewarding.  When I played the low notes, I could feel the vibration through my chest.  After playing for 45 minutes, I was actually sweaty!  That never happened with my flute.  The written sax part was also more meaty and interesting.  I hated for band to be over, and I dragged that heavy sax home every weekend so I could just keep playing it.

I wasn't a fabulous player, and I don't think I ever sat first chair, but I thoroughly enjoyed playing.  I didn't realize it at the time, but all of those years I spent playing second alto would pay off later in life.  As an adult, I nearly always hear harmony lines whether they are being played or not.  This is a tremendous asset when I'm trying to sit in and also play as part of a section.  I've heard a lot of singers say that they can't find the harmony, but it's almost like second nature to me.

By the time I reached high school, my diligence had begun to pay off and I made respectable showings at the regional and state music festivals.  I was always a HUGE stress case, and I was just crazy-nervous any time I had to perform for a judge.  In retrospect, I don't know what the fuss was about, but I thought that the world hung in the balance, and if I didn't get a I (one) at state I would be some sort of tremendous loser.  Let me just tell you, that I received at least as many II's (twos) as I did I's (ones) and it just has not affected my life at all.  I was somehow able to get into a college music program and graduate, and I have been blessed with the opportunity to perform for millions of people over the years. 

Bearing this in mind, if you have children and you want them to be successful with music, please just remember a few small things:  

	Finding the right teacher is crucial. Don't let some hack convince your possible-prodigy that he or she is not good enough.  Not ever.  Do whatever it takes to find a teacher who understands your child, and whom your child can respect.  Fear is not the proper inspiration for your budding artist.
	Music is supposed to be fun. If your child isn't enjoying him/herself, then you need to take a close look at the music program or ensemble.  Sometimes pre-teen (or teen) rivalry can get in the way and your child might be too wrapped up in the competition to see the big picture.  It may make sense to make a change if the misery quotient is too high.
	You cannot force a child to play.  You do not have to nag a child to practice. As simple as it is for me to say, don't think that just because you've spent a fortune on an instrument, that you can create a desire in your child for musical skill.  You can't want it for him/her. All you can do is provide the opportunity for your child to dabble in music.  She might be interested, she might not.  If your child resists, try to realize that it's not about you and back off.
	High school success is fleeting. Some of the best players I knew in high school have not touched a musical instrument in almost 20 years.  Remind your child that he needs to find his own ways to excel, and try very hard not to get bogged down by who is first chair, or who got what rating in an organized competition.  If you're first chair, and you're getting those I's (ones) at contest, then YOU ROCK, and you deserve to feel proud of yourself.  However, if you are not, it doesn't necessarily mean that you are any less talented than your peers.