If you'd told seven-year-old Meg that she'd grow up to be a music teacher, she'd have laughed you out of the room, or kicked you in the shins. Actually, she'd never have kicked you, because her parents would have grounded her for about three months for something like that.
Anyway, it's been told. I hated piano lessons at first, but things change, etc. etc.
Believe me, though, I'm thankful that my parents insisted I keep at it. I'm thankful for Mrs. Heindmarsh, who took on nine-year-old "I Hate Piano!" Meg and helped shape her into a music-lover. I'm thankful for Mr. Gaesser, who made high school music so much fun, I figured I might as well never leave the party and just become a music teacher myself.
I'm thankful for my music, in all of its forms. When I drag out my clarinet, or play the piano for fun. When I sing in the car, or perform with SCSO. When I watch the light bulb click on over a student's head, or figure out a new way to present something in the hopes of helping my students.
Music is good.
|Age seven? Eight?|
|Age 14, freshman in high school. Look at the|
|Age 20-21, at Chico.|
|Stockton Chorale...age 30-something.|
|SCSO, age 34.|