Artful Passion

My children spend their days being educated. I guess, to a certain extent, we all do. As I sit and write this, I am listening to Frederic tackle his piano lesson. He's been playing for almost a year, and he is making some incredible strides. Lily plays too. Not officially with lessons yet, but she really seems as passionate about learning the instrument as her big brother. The thing that amazes--and inspires--me is their thirst for knowledge and their desire to try new things. I don't think I was like that as a child.

I dipped my toe in theater when I was in kindergarten. I don't think I had to audition for the role I won as a munchkin in the school's production of "The Wizard of Oz." If I remember correctly, all I had to do was have my parents complete a permission slip, expressing my interest and granting me their blessing. My slip was randomly selected amongst all of the other munchkin wanna-be's. My inclusion in the cast did not spark an early desire to become an actor. I wouldn't dip another toe into the theater until sixth grade when I auditioned and won a spot in the the school talent show. My career in the theater ended in college. I took an elective in Intro to Theater, considering a minor in the art, but was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of memorization involved. The pot smoking theater crowd was accepting and inclusive, but if asked, I could not remember one name of my fellow thespians.

I played the violin for one year when I was eight, not really loving the instrument, and settled on the trumpet when I was in fifth grade. Miss McLean, the school's music instructor, scared me. She was probably not as old as I thought she was, but she reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West; possibly a carry over feeling from my time in the school play. While I continued to play the trumpet through grammar school and middle school, even sitting first chair in the 8th grade Jazz Band, led by our very passionate teacher, Mr. Flamini, again I didn't love playing the instrument. I ran into Mr. Flamini a few years back at a Border's Books. He didn't remember me. I don't blame him. I wasn't very memorable. I continued to play the trumpet for two years in high school, but I refused to participate beyond what was minimally required of me. I gave up on the instrument before going into my junior year, and finally sold my silver Bach a few years ago for $950 on eBay.

I used the money I made from the sale of the trumpet to buy a guitar. I figured the money should really go toward some type of musical activity. I have always liked the guitar and was excited to finally play an instrument that interested me. Guitar is hard. I started with private lessons at a local music shop. The instructor--a long haired/hippy/rock and roller, was nice, but he wasn't inspiring. I didn't really connect with his personality, and I was impatient. I wanted to be able to pick up the instrument and begin strumming like the guitar players I'd seen and heard. He wanted me to start with the basics, learning the fingering and playing scales. Several of my friends suggested taking lessons at the Old Town School of Folk Music in the city. It would take me an hour and a half (versus 10 minutes) to get to the School, but I heard such great things about their method of instruction. Everyone I spoke with said they learned so much and so quickly. These were group lessons and the instructors had you playing songs (chords) within the first lesson. I took three 10 week courses and was making progress, but in reality, I wasn't that good. I probably didn't take the time needed to really learn the instrument.

Maybe I don't have passion for the musical arts. I'm glad the kids do. I'm happy they inspire me.