When I was younger, my parents bought me a violin. Something about the benefits of learning to play a musical instrument. And I tried for awhile, I really did.
Unfortunately, the whole ordeal was a bit disastrous. Many hours scraping against squealing strings.
After a year, I could make it through “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” without too much complaint. It was around that time my father came to me and said it was alright if I took a break from it for awhile.
And so the pretty piece of wood sat in a corner of our house collecting dust, until one day Gracie pulled it out of a box and began to fiddle around with it. It was not pleasing at first, and I laughed thinking she’d have my same experience with the wretched thing.
But before too long she showed a real knack for it. Her fingers could produce sweet notes that mine never could.
Mother enrolled her in lessons as quickly as possible. Gracie attacked the music, flying through different pieces and arrangements.
It was shortly after this I left for college. I didn’t come home often. Come to think of it, I never did ask Gracie how her violin came along. I wonder if she ever played with an orchestra like she had wanted.