Five Violins

The First One. After years of asking, my parents bought me my first violin. A little 1/4 size that fit my little 8 year old arms. "Kate, you have to practice every day," my mom told me. "I know! I will! I promise." It was a month before she found me a teacher, but sometimes I'd take out my violin and just look at it and pluck the strings. Once I started learning with Mrs. Carlson, I realized that it was harder to sound nice than I'd thought. Why couldn't my violin sound like hers? My fingers didn't want to go in the right spots and my bow wouldn't stop scratching. But Mrs. Carlson told me about the great composers and explained music theory and painted pictures of the world of music. I kept practicing, even though it didn't even sound that great to me. I cried before my first recital. It was a Christmas recital and I was supposed to play Old Saint Nick and Jingle Bells. I knew the songs, but I was so scared. My mom sat me down outside the recital hall and said, "Kate, you can do this. This is only the beginning. Don't give up. Just stand up and play. You'll be ok." And so I stood up and played.

The Second One. Having successfully finished Book One, I started to sound nicer. I also grew. My skinny 10 year old arms needed something bigger. My mom sold my 1/4 and bought a shiny 1/2 size with a bright red finish. My dreams grew with my instrument. I asked Mrs. Carlson how many Suzuki books there were. She said ten. Infinity to a ten year old mind. But I kept practicing and stopped crying before recitals. I grew frustrated with my hands. My left wrist refused to be straight and my right pinky denied any efforts to curve. Mrs. Carlson tried in vain. My hands would not cooperate, but deep down I didn't really care. I still sounded ok to me. I made efforts only to please Mrs. Carlson. I learned to play Bach and Brahms and Paganini. The names thrilled me. When my mom put on classical music at home, I'd listen for the violins. When we went to symphony concerts, I watched the violinists. How did their fingers move so fast? Could I ever play like that?

The Third One. We moved and I started with a teacher in our new neighborhood. The move was traumatic for my 12 year old psyche, but it also made me learn and grow in new ways. My red violin was starting to feel tiny, so I said goodbye to it and got a shiny 3/4- almost a grown up full size. My new teacher insisted that I fix my wrist and pinky, and I decided it was about time anyway. The music I learned had feeling and purpose in it. I loved it. My world had shifted with our move and I wasn't quite sure who I was, but I forgot that when I played. I could forget about making friends and leaving old ones. I made friends with my violin.

The Fourth One. Finally, the notes started to come quickly. I advanced quickly with my grown-up sized instrument. Then I got to the first Vivaldi concerto in a minor. It inspired and terrified me. I practiced The Bear-the hardest four lines in the entire piece- over and over and over again. Learning that concerto was the hardest thing I have ever done, to this day. But I learned it. The notes of that concerto were written by Vivaldi, and the publisher may own the copyright, but it was mine. I had conquered it and the spirit of it went deep into my heart and it was mine. All the pieces I learned were real music. They were challenging and beautiful. They demanded practice and dedication. Each one taught me to use my hands and my instrument a little better, taught me to love it a little more. I auditioned for Youth Symphony- and got in. I made friends with musicians. I started teaching. Music became a part of my soul.

The Fifth One. Ten years after I first Twinkled, I can play what I dreamed. My original full size violin could not play at the level I reached. I saved and planned and sacrificed to buy a real Instrument. It puts fire in my eye and a song in my heart. Finally, my heart and hands and instrument can sing. Music is part of my being. It is programmed in my body, etched in my heart, and built in my character. Music isn't something I do; it's something I am. I am a violinist.