A Letter to My Parents at Christmas
I'll be giving each of my parents a copy of this letter at Christmas, but since I am the patron saint of impatience, I'm posting it here early. Shh, don't tell.
Not many people can pinpoint the exact moment when the course of their life shifted, but mine can be narrowed down to a single question asked of a seven-year-old girl:
What instrument do you want to play?
That one question you asked me all those years ago charted the path that every single thing I have done from that point out. It determined the friends I’ve made, the experiences I had, who my mentors and colleagues are, where I went to college, where I’ve lived, who I married, what I do.
I met my best friend in orchestra. I’m a music teacher because I play the violin, because of the amazing experiences I had in lessons and orchestras through the years.
I’m thankful for all of this all the time, but there are moments when it really strikes me just how much everything changed because my parents loved me enough to ask me that one question. To pay for instrument rentals and purchases and lessons. To drive me to Saturday morning rehearsals and attend countless recitals and concerts. To always support and encourage me. To not blink an eye when I told you my desire to become a music teacher, not the most lucrative of careers monetarily, because you knew I wanted it so badly I could taste it.
It’s the moments when kids leave my classroom still singing the songs we were just learning, when a student finally masters a difficult piece, when I’m sitting in the symphony swallowed up in some of the most beautiful music ever written that I’m so overcome with thankfulness I can hardly breathe.
Thank you so much for asking me that one question all those years ago. Without it, without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. And I am so happy to be here.
Not many people can pinpoint the exact moment when the course of their life shifted, but mine can be narrowed down to a single question asked of a seven-year-old girl:
What instrument do you want to play?
That one question you asked me all those years ago charted the path that every single thing I have done from that point out. It determined the friends I’ve made, the experiences I had, who my mentors and colleagues are, where I went to college, where I’ve lived, who I married, what I do.
I met my best friend in orchestra. I’m a music teacher because I play the violin, because of the amazing experiences I had in lessons and orchestras through the years.
I’m thankful for all of this all the time, but there are moments when it really strikes me just how much everything changed because my parents loved me enough to ask me that one question. To pay for instrument rentals and purchases and lessons. To drive me to Saturday morning rehearsals and attend countless recitals and concerts. To always support and encourage me. To not blink an eye when I told you my desire to become a music teacher, not the most lucrative of careers monetarily, because you knew I wanted it so badly I could taste it.
It’s the moments when kids leave my classroom still singing the songs we were just learning, when a student finally masters a difficult piece, when I’m sitting in the symphony swallowed up in some of the most beautiful music ever written that I’m so overcome with thankfulness I can hardly breathe.
Thank you so much for asking me that one question all those years ago. Without it, without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. And I am so happy to be here.