When I was ten years old, I began playing the cornet.  For the first few years, it was a fairly insignificant part of my life.  I’d practice a little bit, and I was able to play the songs the band director asked us to play.  Still, playing a musical instrument was not an important part of my life.  I was much more attuned to football and toy cars and the first stirrings of adolescent interest in the opposite sex.

All that changed in one day late in the sixth grade.  Well, the adolescent interest in the opposite sex did not change, but the place of music certainly did.  That was the day I became a good cornet player.  That was the day I moved up from about the tenth chair in the band to the third chair.  From that day on, band was the most important part of my school experience.  From that day on, mastery of my instrument was the challenge that drove me.  I am convinced, as well, that music complimented academic performance.  The pride of excellence spilled over from music to other academic pursuits.  I was a high achiever in math and language studies.  But playing my instrument was the thing that made me enjoy school.  Playing my instrument was the thing that made me happy. 

I’ve often thought about my unfortunate family having to listen to me play that horn.  Listening to a young kid trying to play a loud cornet is not necessarily an aesthetically pleasing experience.  We did not live in a large house.  I practiced in my room, which was located just off the den where Mom and Dad and Brother and Sister congregated to watch TV.  Once, shortly before my father passed away, I suggested that there must be a special place in Heaven for the parents of young children learning to play loud musical instruments.  My father smiled and nodded his head in agreement.  I thought he smiled a little too enthusiastically, actually!  But then he said something else that has remained with me.  He said that after a few years, he and my mother enjoyed listening to me play, as it became apparent that I was good at it.  He acknowledged the joy that they took in seeing me discover something that I obviously loved.  What he was describing, of course, was the pride parents take in the accomplishments of their children.

These memories have come back in a flood during the past several weeks.  And the reason is simple, and can be explained best in a picture, rather than in words.

That is my son, and that is my old cornet.  It’s the cornet my parents gave me when I was 14 years old.  It’s the one they bought for more money than they could easily afford after the band director told them that I was a very good player, but could be so much better if I had an instrument that matched my talent.  Now it is the instrument that my son is learning on.  One day in four or five years he may have a music teacher tell us that he is a very good player, but could be much better if he were playing on a newer instrument worthy of his talent.   If that conversation happens, we will make sure that my son has an instrument commensurate with his ability and potential.

Of course, my son may decide that playing the trumpet or cornet is not something he wants to continue.  We may discover that he really does not have a natural affinity for playing any musical instrument at all.  If that happens, we won’t mind, because we know that he will find something else in which he will excel.  And in so doing, he will find himself.