The First Note

My childhood music experience was limited to Primary songs and hymns in church. I also remember some elementary teachers who played the guitar and taught us simple songs to perform for our parents during assemblies. My father had played the guitar when he was younger, but I only heard him play a few times in my early youth. I think it's fair to say that my biggest exposure to music was the radio. When I heard good music, I knew I liked it, but I never imagined myself as a music maker.

Then in fifth grade we were invited to go onto the school stage and meet with the band teacher. I remember thinking that it was going to be a lame exercise and that I would have rather played at recess. The teacher told us that we were going experiment with the different kinds of instruments that were in the school band. It was like he was speaking a foreign language because I didn't even know what the different instruments were.

We didn't have a piano in our house. A couple of my sisters used to play an old violin but it didn't even have all its strings anymore. Without a standing tradition of playing in school bands I didn't even think I could play. My parents can be grateful that to try out the drums we banged on drum pads. It was so lame that there was no way I was going to do that. When the wood instruments were passed around I was at an absolute loss as to how to make any sound greater than blowing air. Let's not even talk about the flute; at least with a reed I could understand that I was supposed to make it vibrate.

As he passed the brass instruments down the row I skipped the trombone. It was far too heavy and I didn't get it. Finally my friend placed the trumpet in my hand. The teacher came by and handed me a mouthpiece he had just cleaned. I inserted the mouthpiece and held the horn to my lips and I blew. Everyone stopped. No one was beating the drum pads. No squeaks escaped from the clarinets and saxes; not a peep from the flutes nor any of the other horns. The only sound was me.

I had just played a perfect C. Actually, it was a B flat, but because the trumpet is built in a different key it was the right note for the instrument. But none of that technicality mattered; I couldn't even read music. I just knew that it felt right and that the horn was just an extension of me. I was so happy when my friends clapped and said do it again and I did. To this day I love to pull out the horn and play. I am happy to practice and play whenever I have the chance and I am certain that it's due to that flawless and fortunate first note.