I had to force my parents into letting me take music lessons. When I was 5 I apparently (though I don't remember) told my mother I wanted to learn either the cello or the oboe. A mild case of childhood asthma nixed the oboe idea for me, so cello it was. My dad didn't like the idea of spending money for me to learn an instrument, so I had to be creative. When I was 8 I managed to convince the principal of my school to let me join the orchestra, which was a free program but only for 5th and 6th grade students. Since I couldn't afford a cello of my own to practice on at home, I went to school an hour and a half early every day to practice on the school cello -- it was actually the nicest one the school had because it was the only half size: the other students were big enough to start on 3/4 or full sized instruments, so the half size was rarely used.
My mother recognized my devotion and started taking house-cleaning jobs behind my dad's back to save money. By the time I was big enough for a full size cello my parents had divorced and my mom had saved enough to buy me one.
When I was in 7th grade I started skipping school. By the last trimester I had stopped going entirely, except for orchestra. I walked 3 miles to school carrying a cello that was bigger than me to go to orchestra, and then walked home. I skipped 8th grade and moved to a new school district for high school, there they had a better orchestra, and I also joined the West Seattle Community Orchestra. I played in the Seattle Youth Symphony, and made it to principal cellist, and I used my knowledge of music to teach myself the violin, mandolin, and currently, guitar.
My cello is in my closet now, and I've played it only a handful of times in the past ten years. I was so passionate about it in my youth, but I've filled my life with other things these days. I'm happy that I learned it, and it's the only thing I own that I cling to purely out of nostalgia. Maybe someday I'll return to it.
