In elementary school, it seemed like an ultimatum: upon entering fifth grade, students must choose either choir or band class. It was a daunting decision that some students despised. Why do we have to have a music class if we aren’t at all musical? But I was floored. In the years before fifth grade, I had watched fifth graders stroll through the elementary halls with instrument cases of all kinds – trombone, flute, saxophone – and I knew I wanted to haul a case around like that one day. So when that decision fell to me, I threw myself into a class that would alter the next seven years of my life and beyond.
I chose the clarinet because of the neat wooden piece that the instrument required to make its unique sound. I didn’t know at the time just how much I would loathe those neat wooden pieces later in my schooling (reeds can be pretty fidgety sometimes). I was lucky enough to have my parents purchase a clarinet for me, rather than rent one from my school. I say I’m lucky for this, not because it prevented me from using pre-used instruments, but because owning an instrument put a certain weight on me not to give it up when the music got tough.
I learned the notes and how those notes can become “Row Your Boat” and “Hot Cross Buns.” I learned the amount of beats in a measure and I learned that that can change, depending on the time signature. In middle school, my band director chose a song that involved bursting balloons and another that involved learning how to make wine glasses sing. In high school, he was cool enough to let us play a collection of the songs from Pirates of the Caribbean, and he tolerated my section of clarinets when we griped about playing the terrible high notes. We took a trip to Texas over the winter break of my junior year to participate in the half-time show of the Rose Bowl. My high school band plays at as many important school events as it can: assemblies, pep rallies, sporting events. You name it, they’re probably there. It’s a unique experience for those students who are committed enough to do it, and I had 7 years of it.
Throughout my earlier years of education, I excelled at everything that was tossed my way. The clarinet was no exception. I quickly became first chair, and I maintained that position well. My academic excellence did slip some in high school, and I relinquished my seat for one year, eleventh grade. I won that spot back for my senior year. That first seat was my home.
Then, after I graduated high school, I gave it up. In giving up my clarinet, I gave up a part of me that I didn’t know was so large until it was gone. When I hear music, I subconsciously synchronize my steps with the beat. When I watch a movie, I separate the individual instruments from the music that sets the feeling of each scene. I grit my teeth every time I hear something out of tune or off-beat. I imagine how I could contribute to a pep band when I go to sporting events.
I suppose that some individuals who give up a musical instrument aren’t quite as tied to it as I am, but I am certain that there are others like me. Others who miss the silence right before you dive into a piece of music that you know will stun your audience, or the triumph of nailing a section that had had you stumped, or the indescribable sensation of breathing life into notes on paper. I know there are some people who will read these words as dramatic, poetic nonsense; but there are some who will read this and feel like I’ve written it for them. And I have.
I don’t intend to sell my clarinet. It may be collecting dust at the moment, but I’ll crack that case back open sooner or later. It’s just like riding a bike. Though I’ve had a year to become rusty, it’ll all flow back to me. And I wish the same for those who feel the same way.
