Growing up attending public school in America, when I was in fourth grade, I was given the grand opportunity to try out various musical instruments (of the wind variety; you had the option of trying stringed instruments starting in third grade, but I was not interested in those at the time.) I headed to the elementary school library where the local music teacher, and some assistants, had an array of instruments lined up around the room. I remember my mom being there, and I believe it may have been after school or on a weekend.
My older sister played the clarinet, so I tried the clarinet. I made a passable sound out of it, and my fingers reached the keys in an appropriate manner such that I wouldn’t have any trouble learning to play it. My older brother played the trumpet, so I tried the trumpet. I made a passable sound out of it, and was granted the opportunity to learn it, should I so desire. I think I tried the flute for the heck of it, but I was not very good at making any sounds out of it, and quickly lost interest in trying. My mom and I were discussing if I might want to try the clarinet or trumpet, when I noticed the music teacher helping someone try another instrument. One I hadn’t noticed before. One that I did not recognize. One that was just being offered to the beginning students for the first time in my school district. “I want to try that!,” I said to my mom. We approached the teacher, and with a smile on her face, she showed us all the features of the instrument and told us it was a baritone horn. I tried the baritone, and made a passable sound out of it. Something about it struck a chord in me, and I was hooked. “I want to play this!”
Turns out, the instrument I really learned to play was the euphonium. I honked on it through elementary school. I played melodies with it through middle school. In high school, I began to create music from the beast that was formerly called “the whale” by my friends. By this time, I was gaining respect for my skills and was surprised when someone complimented me on my tone one day. I always played (and played and played) because I really, truly loved it. I still love it. Music is my art. It moves me, and I feel it within my bones, with the beats of my heart, and with every breath I take. I lose myself in music, and step away from the everyday world into a world of pure feeling, fantasy, and happiness. I never did it for anyone else; it was always for me.
I want to give that opportunity to my children, should they want to take advantage of it.
Today, a piano lives in our house. It will most likely stay there forever. I searched through Craigslist time and again and often found pianos people were giving away for free. We finally got things arranged in our life to take advantage of such an offer, so I recently inquired about a few, and decided on one to go see and try. We liked it, and decided to take it.
I grabbed a few coworkers at lunchtime, we rented a truck, picked it up, and brought it home today. Endless thanks to my coworkers that suffered through the rain, excessive traffic, and empty bellies to lift a piano up onto a truck, back down, and then carry it up a hill to my back door! I bought them lunch, but enough thanks can’t be given for their very willing help. Thanks, guys!
Granted, it needs tuned, but seems to be in good shape otherwise. Now we can expand our children’s knowledge and grant them more opportunities to experience the creation of music. I truly believe music to be a wonderful thing and have played several instruments and have sung in several choirs and other groups over the years to release my love for it.
Here’s hoping we all enjoy the music for years to come! (And that I can successfully learn to tune a piano after one professional tuning!)
Posted by Rachel
Posted by 
