My Clarinet and Me

While in elementary school, my parents had enrolled me in one sport per school year: T-ball in second grade, volleyball in third, soccer in fourth and basketball in fifth. None of these sports particularly interest me, except for maybe basketball, which I was known to play occasionally during lunch in middle school, until my competitiveness caused me to push someone down. I didn't like that side of me, so I decided to stop playing. Over the summer between fifth and sixth grade, my mom and I went to a concert (we went to a LOT of concerts). This was a small one, the quieter half of an orchestra in a small church, playing who knows what. Afterward, they invited the audience up to ask questions about the piece or their instruments, and I went up to talk to the clarinetist. They asked if I was interested in playing the clarinet, and I said I had been thinking about learning either that or the flute - though I did think the flute was kind of a girly instrument, and I was not at girly girl.

So after starting sixth grade, my mom asked if I would like to learn how to play the clarinet, and I said sure. We didn't have a music program at my middle school, hell, we didn't even have water in our pool. We only got an art class when I was in eighth grade, and that was a big deal. So my mom and I drove a few miles away to a music store/lesson place. I was introduced to my music teacher, and my mom signed a contract, renting to own a clarinet.

I liked my music teacher. He was in his late thirties maybe, a father of two small children. He mostly put up with me being silly, and rarely scolded me to get focused. My lessons were probably about a half hour, if I had to guess, and I was also supposed to practice at home everyday (at least every weekday).

And so that became part of my routine. The summer between eighth and ninth grade, we moved from San Jose to Palo Alto, about thirty miles apart. I enrolled in band class at school, and wanted to continue my lessons. This was a problem, but we solved it with public transportation. I somehow got from Palo Alto to downtown San Jose (though I don't remember how that worked) and then from there, took the light rail and then a bus to get to the music store.

At some point, my music teacher told me he'd been diagnosed with leukemia, but that it wasn't bad and he'd probably be fine. I was concerned, but hopeful. He stopped teaching at the store, and I began going to his house for lessons. There was no bus to get me there (he didn't live far) or maybe it was that my friend (who had lived across the street from me in San Jose) had a mom who'd heard about all my bus taking, but she started driving me, picking me up from the light rail station. My mom picked me up afterward.

For some reason, it was decided I needed to learn the flute, to get a better understanding of musical theory or something. My best friend at high school, J, played the flute, so I doubt it was difficult to convince me. My music teacher recommended a friend of his to buy a used flute from, so we went and purchased one. I would alternate between instruments in my lessons.

But suddenly, one afternoon, while J was over and we were goofing around, I got a call from my music teacher's wife telling me he'd died. My reaction was odd "you're kidding" but I had never received a phone call heralding someone's death. I scrawled the time and place of the funeral on the front cover of the aforementioned Script, where it remains to this day.

I was pretty devastated. He'd had a son while I'd known him, so quite young. It was out of the blue, he'd died of pneumonia he'd developed from a cold. I went to his funeral with my mom, and grieved for quite a while afterward.

I continued with band through high school, becoming part of a dual drum major team my senior year. In college, I took, I think it was called symphony for one year, sophomore, I think. In senior year, I took an improv class that I thought would be about stage improv, but it turned out to be musical improv. I thought about dropping it, but continued instead.

That was the last time I played my clarinet regularly. I got it out the other day to take this picture, and I've discovered it needs to be re-corked on one joint. I need to find a place to do that ... maybe see how much they charge for lessons.