Music is love.
Music is life.
Music has always held a special place in my heart. It was my first love.
I began singing at a very young age, not well if I recall but I tried. I played all the kids instruments we had for our daycare, I created my own instruments out of random items around the house. I couldn't sleep without the radio on, and anytime there was silence there was always music in my head.
My dad bought my mom an electronic keyboard for Christmas one year...I'm pretty sure she got to play it for about a month before it was permanently in my room. For my dad's 40th birthday my mom bought him a guitar...you can guess where that ended up...
In 5th grade, when I started public school, we had music class. We learned how to read basic music, how to play the recorder, the xylophone, and other basic instruments. In 6th grade I joined the worship team at my church. We were allowed both band and choir if we wanted so I chose both. I picked up the trumpet because it seemed the most interesting to me. In 7th grade we were only allowed one elective. I had to choose between choir and band. I loved both dearly but I chose band because I knew that I still had church where I could flaunt my vocal skills.
I learned so much that year from my band teacher. I began the year playing the trumpet but the instrument availability at my middle school was so much bigger that I was able to learn a new instrument if I wanted. I picked the baritone horn. For those of you who weren't band geeks...this was in between a tuba and trumpet. It was a pretty big instrument but not HUGE. I loved the way it sounded. It wasn't high pitched and somewhat obnoxious like a trumpet could be but it also wasn't a super deep bass instrument like the tuba. I was also the only one who played it. And I played it very well. Between 7th and 8th grade I received many solos and I even won an award from my instructor. In 8th grade I joined Jazz band. I played trumpet in Jazz band and the baritone in regular band.
Toward the end of every school year Mr. Mines would let the class choose a piece to perform for one of our concerts. We were basically given a book of songs and got to vote on which one we would do. One of the years we chose Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
A little background...
I grew up in a very Christian family.
"Christian music" and country music was what I was allowed to listen to.
Anything not within these categories was forbidden.
After the decision had been made for the class to perform Bohemian Rhapsody I came home with my sheet music humming the song. I was so excited because this was a song my parents would actually know. I wanted to share this with them so badly. However, when I shared this news I was told this was a "bad" song. I should not be listening to this "ungodly" music. However an exception would be made as I had no control over the choice. I didn't understand why this was so bad but I took this as an opportunity to broaden my horizons and learn about some new genres.
I listened to this song over and over and over. I wanted to learn every piece, every phrase, every word. Each day in band we would play the song, section by section. Until one day the piece came together just enough you could finally tell what we were trying to make. It was beautiful. Most of the pieces we played were classical songs I had never heard. This was different. This I could feel. We were recreating a song into something beautiful.
9th grade I got a new music teacher. Mr. Wilson. He was MUCH different than Mr. Mines. They were basically polar opposites of each other. I realized that, with how much I respected Mr. Mines, Mr. Wilson was what I needed. I continued playing the baritone but no longer played in Jazz Band. My first year in high school I struggled in math a bit so I needed to have more time to focus on my non elective classes.
Mr. Wilson was goofy and fun but he was also intense. Every day I looked forward to this class. I was made fun of constantly for being a band geek but I honestly didn't care. Making music was too beautiful to quit because of other peoples opinions.
I was given so many solos I lost count. Sometimes I thought my teacher picked songs with baritone solos just for me.
In 10th grade I joined marching band and was given the opportunity to be a part of a special program for excellent students. There were other students from schools all over who were picked to be a part of this concert. We were given a piece and had to practice on our own time. We got one, maybe two, practices together as a group before we performed. It was so much fun to participate in. By the end of 10th grade, our grade, performances throughout the year, and motivation decided which level class we were in the following year. I found out I had been placed in honor band. I had never had an honor class. I wasn't super smart, I had pretty bad grades outside of band, so being placed in honors was the most exciting thing to me. I felt like things were starting to look up.
It was this summer I was sent to Montana...
Music was not important there. Along with stripping you of everything that made you an individual, they also stripped you of anything that was important to you. The silence every day, every hour, was deafening. Occasionally we were allowed to listen to the radio...It was always country music. For some reason they felt that was an okay music genre for us to listen to. Apparently songs about taking 10 rounds of Jose Cuervo was acceptable inspiration for us troubled teens. Once I became a little more comfortable with my "sisters" I started singing to them before bed. My parents would send me lyrics to songs, usually worship songs, but occasionally they would give into one of my requests and send me something I asked for.
Eventually we received a choir teacher and were allowed to join depending on how well we were doing within the levels of the program. I immediately jumped on the opportunity to join. We practiced often and even got to go on some field trips. Soon I was offered a spot in honor choir which was basically just the same thing but a smaller group. At one point we got to go to the capitol building and perform. This is a picture from that.
When I got into upper levels they let my parents bring me the guitar. I actually cried when I saw it. I played it nearly every day.
I started writing music.
I even taught myself how to play some chords.
It was my release and it was everything to me.
Over the years I have mostly forgotten about how much music meant to me.
Every once in a while though, something will remind me of what I missed out on.
The power and emotion this song evokes is something I miss dearly.
I miss being a part of creating something so beautiful it gives you chills.
I could have been so much more musically and that was ripped away from me.
I had one beautiful thing going for me in high school and it was all thrown away.
My whole life was thrown to bits and it took too long to pick up the pieces for me to have made something of it.
Of all the things I have been angry about in regards to being sent away, this is the one I have the most trouble letting go of.
I can be socially awkward
I can be anxious
I can get depressed...
But I spent so many years becoming what I was with my music that I don't think I can ever have that back. And that in itself is honestly one of the most terrifying realizations I have had.
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