The Half-Hearted Musical Prodigy

I love music.  It has always been a part of my life.  I love the way music can make you feel; altering your mood completely. 

Music has been a part of my life even before I was even born.  My mother was a middle school and high school band director, so I heard marching band music daily from in the womb.  When I parents went to a concert while I my mom was pregnant, I moved around so much in her belly that she eventually had to call it a night.  Music was pretty much instilled in me from the beginning. 

I remember my dad getting his records out, playing along with them on his guitar.  He would just sit there and play along with the songs and sing.   

{Playing guitars with my dad.}

When I was in elementary school, I learned that what came easy to me musically, didn't come as easy to others in my class.  I learned this lesson during music class in the 2nd grade.  Our Christmas program was coming up, and my music teacher was "auditioning" boys to play the drum during "Little Drummer Boy."  All the drummer had to do was hit the drum in a certain rhythm along with the music.  Boy after boy attempted to play the drum, but would fail miserably.  As the last boy in my class failed the drum test, my teacher stopped and looked over at me.  I could see the wheels turning in his head.  He knew who my mother was, and decided to take a chance.  He handed me the drum sticks and let me try.  I played the rhythm perfectly with the music on the first try.  He smiled and said we'd found our little drummer girl.

{Being the "Little Drummer Girl" in 1991.}

It wasn't long after that, that my mom enrolled me in piano lessons.  At first I was eager to get started.  I quickly learned the basics and in no time, was reading music.  I figured out that after playing with the sheet music once or twice I was able to play the songs by memory.  Sometimes, if it was a song I knew, I didn't need the sheet music at all.  This did not please my piano teacher and thus began years of disagreement and confrontation.  Before long, I was constantly being criticized for my lack of keeping my eyes on the sheet music at all times, my bad posture, the way I held my hands on the keyboard, the nail polish on my fingernails (although I don't know what nail polish had to do with my ability to play the piano), and so on.  Needless to say, my piano teacher and I were not getting along.  I started to not care about piano at all.  I stopped practicing and would cry and complain when my mom would make me.  Although I was a decent pianist, I hated it. 

One Saturday morning as my mom and I sat in the car outside one of the infamous piano "festivals" I was forced to play at each year, I burst into tears and told her I didn't want to do it anymore.  For the first time in my life, she said I didn't have to and we left.  We spent the rest of the day at the mall.  I quit piano lessons and never looked back.

{Piano recital 1993.}

Next up on my musical journey was beginner band in 7th grade.  I decided to play the clarinet and this, much like piano, came somewhat naturally.  I never practiced and was still about to outplay most of my classmates.  This began a six year battle with my mother about my musical abilities. 

{Here I am in 8th grade playing in the pep band.  You can tell how serious I am about pep band.}

By the time I was in high school, I had had my share of unpleasant music teachers (not all of them, but...some).  In high school band, I never could seem to focus.  I never practiced and made it a priority to aggravate my fellow clarinet section members (sorry Shannon) and my mother.  My mother was even using the words "disappointment" and "frustration" when discussing my lack of focus.  Even after purchasing me a very expensive new clarinet, I still had no interest. 

When it came time to apply for scholarships to college, a band one was out of the question in my opinion.  I think a lot of this hostility was just my own young ignorance.  Looking back, I'm not sure if I could have handled being in a college band with students who loved it and actually wanted to be there.  It just wasn't something I could focus on, much to my mother's dismay. 

It had been six years since I had been in a music class, when all of sudden I missed learning about music.  I started reading books on music and classic rock n' roll.  I ordered some piano sheet music online and before long, I was playing Sara Bareilles's "Love Song" on my keyboard.  I was surprised at how long it took me to read the music.  It had been way to long.

Musical ability is a talent that if not applied often, can go away.  Trust me.  I'm still trying to get back into the "musical" habit.  I feel bad that my mother spent so much time trying to make me a musical person and I just let it all go.  I'm still a work in progress.