Elementary School Music Education and the Broken Violin

I'm not sure if it is still the case, but when I was in grade school at Farnsworth Elementary, learning to play an instrument was almost a requirement. I suspect that was the case throughout the Twin Cities, because Schmidt Music had an instrument rental program, and schools had a band or orchestra teacher. My parents felt it would be a good idea for me to take part, why I have no idea, since I do not come from a musical family. As far as I can tell, not one of my parents, grandparents, aunts or uncles played anything. I don't think any of them were decent singers, either. So this mystifies me.

At any rate, about the same time, two different instruments entered my life: the violin, which I was to learn in school, and private piano lessons. (Eventually my younger sister Cindy joined in on the piano lessons; my brothers were somehow exempt.) I don't recall having any input in either of these decisions, and I am confident I was not allowed to decline.

I did enjoy the piano lessons. My teacher was a delightful elderly woman who lived near Farnsworth, so my lessons were usually after school. I continued on with lessons for several years, even after we moved and I acquired another teacher. The piano stuck with me, and I accompanied the choir in junior high school (it being determined that I did not have a singing voice that was meant to be showcased). We even had a piano in our home once our children were growing, and all three had some basic piano education.

But back to my story, since I am getting ahead of myself. Despite enjoying the piano, the violin was another matter. Music education at Farnsworth had two parts: the group band/orchestra class, and the individual lessons. I can't tell you now long these continued, but I do recall at least one concert in the school gym.

As enthusiastic as my parents were for me to learn the violin, when the realities of my practicing at home set in, that became another matter. My mother found the screeching of my attempts about more than she could bear, so I was relegated to practicing on the basement stairs behind a closed door. I hated it, not for the practice spot but for what would happen come private lesson day. I had no problem with reading music - my piano teacher had seen to that. It was the logistics of maneuvering my chubby little fingers around the neck of the violin to properly form the chords. No matter how I tried, I couldn't get it right. And when I hit the wrong note, Mr. Ferraro (our music teacher/band director) would rap my knuckles with a ruler and tell me to try again. Unfortunately, rarely was I successful.

It all came to a head one day as I was practicing on the basement stairs for the next day's lesson. The pressure of knowing what was coming at school the next day was too much to bear. Mr. Ferraro's annoyed face danced in front of me, and in desperation I flung my violin down the stairs, where it crashed into the concrete floor. I had the presence of mind to scream, "Oh no, my violin!" My mother came running, and while she might have been deceived, my dad was not so blind. He said he couldn't prove I did it on purpose, but I was not about to be let out of orchestra so easily.

So Dad took me to Schmidt Music with the remnants of the violin to see what could be done. There was no talk of another violin. Instead, the suggestion was for a sturdier instrument - and it just so happened no one in the orchestra had chosen the glockenspiel. For my parents it was perfect: nonbreakable, and because of its size, my practice time was at school. Actually I loved it - being able to smack something and make loud noises was great. Just my style.

In a strange twist of irony, my younger daughter Abigail became fascinated with the violin. Once she had mastered piano basics, she begged us to buy her one. She took to it so naturally, and I cannot explain it. All three of my children played instruments easily, and it makes me wonder if somewhere generations back there were musically inclined ancestors.

A few years ago I got a wild hair and decided to give the violin another go. I thought that perhaps without the pressure of a disapproving teacher I might be able to at least eke out a decent chord. No such luck. But this violin had a much more pleasant fate than its predecessor. I was happy to sell it to a family whose young boy yearned for a violin. He picked it up to try it out before they bought it, and it was clear he knew what he was doing. It was going to a good home and not the basement floor.

Oddly enough, I enjoy violin music, but from time to time it takes me back to those basement stairs and the shattered instrument on the floor. I have deep admiration for anyone who has mastered the instrument. I think I'll go watch a Lindsay Sterling video. She looks as if she is having more fun with her violin than I ever did. Good for her.