I’ve always loved music, but didn’t engage
in it much until recently, active more as an enthused appreciator than as an
actual participant. I’ve always loved live music, and always preferred being up
close and personal with the stage, never content with seeing acts and
superstars who are no more than miniatures on a distant stage. More on that “up
close and personal” in later posts, but you’ll have to be patient for those.
My sister took piano lessons from an early
age, reaching 11th grade. She didn’t play in public often, just the recitals
she was obligated to do. She rarely ever played when anyone else was in the
room, either. She did make an exception for my father, who would sit and listen
to her play for an hour at a time. She played when I was in the room, as well;
probably because I never judged her performance. But she was a perfectionist,
and never pleased with her playing. My mother asked me once, when I was still quite
young, if I’d like to take lessons too, after noticing me fingering the keys on
Karen’s piano. I declined, rather shyly, sure I could never learn. There were
SO many keys, and they were SO far apart. And, having watched my sister play,
it looked SO difficult. That was stupid of me. I regret it to this day. The
earlier one begins to learn anything, the better, and it’s more likely to
become innate if one does start at an early age.
There was "choir" practice for
the plays while in Pinecrest. I know I said that I hated learning harmony, but
I always loved to sing. I used to sing along to LPs and the radio, often
humming along while doing homework. I don’t remember musical instruments being
taught there, at all.
That was relegated to art class in St.
Theresa, where we were introduced to the recorder, probably to see if they
could scare us all away from pursuing music as a career. I have patchy memories
of music classes, I think it was once a week, where we were all expected to
screech and squeak for about 15 or 20 minutes at most. I can’t recall anyone
coming away from those music lessons with a desire to continue. Unless you took
guitar lessons as an extracurricular activity. I did. And I really wanted to
learn. But I was learning on a J-45, enormous for me at the time. And the
strings hurt my fingers. I was told it would take time to build calluses on my fingertips,
but impatience took its toll. I’d pick at it a couple time a week but I just
couldn’t reach the fret board and reach around the body at the same time. I
also had to endure the ridicule from bullies. They threatened to steal my
guitar, they threatened to break it, they pelted me and the guitar case with
snowballs. I quit shortly after that, afraid I would lose my dad’s guitar. I
regret that too.
I would pick the instrument up from time
to time, browse the method manuals, and attempt to teach myself, but learning
to read music by myself was daunting, at best. Then, a schoolmate at college said
he would teach me, but he only taught me a couple cords, never following
through.
I began taking actual music lessons much
later on, in my 40s, through the TSO. No guitar there, but by then I was
interested in more than just guitar. I began with a plastic clarinet, later
added alto sax. And now that I can read music, I’ve started back on guitar
again. I’ll likely never be great, maybe not even good, but it’s the journey
that matters. Challenge yourself. It’s never too late to learn new things, it’s
never too late to chase down a dream.
