Mom and Dad,

When I was five, I asked for a violin for Christmas. I asked for an atomic-blue electric violin, exactly like the one a violinist had in my overplayed VHS copy of Riverdance. You gave me a kid's toy violin that had wire strings and a wire-strung bow instead of horsehair. I'll admit, it was pretty sick in my kid mind. It had programmed songs that would only play if I drew the bow over the "strings", and could actually play each individual string and its corresponding note. It was, by far, my favorite toy. I annoyed the shit out of you guys with that little violin, bringing it outside to play with, busting out Mozart's "Turkish March" in the late hours of the night, I mean, it was my Holy Grail. And it was that toy that really made me develop a love for string instruments and classical music. I begged and begged and begged you guys for violin lessons for years. When you told me you had signed me up for music classes at seven years old, I was elated, thinking they were violin lessons...

They weren't.

They were for piano lessons.

Needless to say, I was pissed. And not just a little bit, either. No, I was already mad about the ballet lessons instead of tap—to which, I must say, I'm still bitter about. I was so upset about piano lessons I acted like I had no clue what I was doing and I never practiced. But I can't blame you for this. I guess you had some adequate reasoning behind your actions...I guess...

When I was about three or four years old, I used to sit at our 100 year old mahogany Boston upright, chipped original ivory keys still intact, slowly teaching myself by ear how to play simple songs. I remember being asked to poke out a tune whenever we had guests over, and Grandma Pat teaching me beginners' songs, playing along with me. I remember my first lesson at seven years old in the old church by Uncle Hilary's house, immediately becoming nauseated by the subway tile floors and smell of stale air and baked cookies. I sat down at a keyboard, got my first lesson book, and started learning what everything on the page meant. When I got home, I distinctly recall saying, "I don't like my teacher, he's not nice, he's not helpful, I hate piano, and I'm never going back to another lesson again."

Honestly, I was just a dumb kid that was far too stressed out for only being on this planet seven years, and who didn't understand that no, honey, you're not gonna become a piano prodigy in one lesson.

But after that day, you guys halfway persuaded, halfway sorta just dropped me back off at my next lesson, and things went much more smoothly after that. I continued lessons for five more years with two more amazing teachers before I chose sports over piano, a choice you highly supported. Then, a sudden jolt forward in my fine arts career began in sixth grade when my Queen obsession hit full force. For some odd reason, you tolerated me hogging the desktop computer for hours everyday religiously watching interviews, live concerts, and documentaries on Queen. I dedicated nearly a month learning and perfecting "Bohemian Rhapsody" without any sheet music, which spurred my "only learning piano songs off YouTube" phase. A phase that got me written in an article for The Network at Marian, a phase that made me decide to learn under Stacey as my private teacher for a year, and a phase that I never really grew out of...I'm sorry Stacey.

Entering high school, you guys (but mostly Miss Pruitte) pushed me to join choir, since, "St. Cecilia's kids are great music students." ...Okay...anyways. I was adamant since I was so heavily involved in sports, but that concussion in 8th grade spooked me a litte, I guess. So, I joined choir. I don't know how many days out of my four years of choir I spent angrily venting to you guys, whether it was Pru-dawg, my classmates, or even something so petty as not liking the syncopation in that extremely impossible "Gloria Kajoniensis" song; I honestly still have war-flashbacks from those stupid testing days. . I definitely had more than a few moments where I was dead-set on excommunicating myself from the fine arts.

But you guys kept urging me to stick it out just one more year. And I listened, of course, because I knew I would have to face the hellish wrath of Pruitte if I quit because I could sight-read and was a "section leader", sure. You came to all of my concerts, you paid for choir trips to compete nationally, and you were supportive and impressed (as was I, honestly) when I formed a group, composed, and transcribed a mash-up of popular classic rock songs myself for POPs Concert senior year that took up all of Christmas break and most of second semester.

Then, something kind of unexpected happened; I tried out for The King and I, the first production put on in Marian's new performing arts center. I did get a part, though, I didn't have many lines because we wives of the King didn't speak any English aside from, "Tom? Tom?....Tom?" But I have never had a better time in my life than when I was in Romeo and Juliet. Even when Mr. Ostrander made us run through the whole play twice on April Fool's Day (and had to stay until 11:30pm), I still remember getting so hype before leaving to go do my makeup and get my hair done hours before showtime and scolding you when you said "good-luck" instead of "break a leg!"

I'll never forget the adrenaline rush I always got going out on stage and hearing the uproar of eardrum-shattering laughter (and Teresa's cackles) when getting extremely into character and start ranting about some hot, young lumberjack giving me a massage or whatever the hell I decided to improv that night. I'll never forget your guys' reaction to our stunning mermaid costumes, set design, and rad Heely skills after going to The Little Mermaid. And I'll be the first to admit Cursing Mummies was the most stressful flop of a show I've ever been in, but you still came regardless, even though all my character did was have some major attitude, look elegant, sprint in 6-inch heels, and scream at the top of my lungs.

What I'm getting at is that I cannot thank you enough for your continued support in my journey though the fine arts. You guys pushed all three of us kids to use and exercise our talents to the fullest, but never burned us out if we were truly unhappy. You exposed us all to so many genres of art, whether it was acting, dancing, music, or actual art at such a young age and continue to push us all to be better than our best selves. So thanks for the piano, the guitar, the drum set, the support in choir and theater, and for being better than the best.

Love your favorite daughter,

Livvy

P.S. I am still very salty about the tap lessons...