I always wanted to be an artist and an illustrator. From as early as I can remember, this was my answer anytime someone asked the age-old question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Coming from a family of many engineers, I was often encouraged to tell Santa Claus that I wanted to be an architectural engineer when he inevitably asked. Obligingly, I would do so. But I was quick to whisper in his ear that I really wanted to be an artist and an illustrator!
An introvert by nature, I spent much of my childhood happily holed up inside with my coloring books, crayons, sketch pads, and any other crafty things I could get my hands on. I would check out all the drawing books that the library had to offer, much to the dismay of my teachers, who would have preferred that I check out something with more words. I would take them home and recreate every drawing in the book, often adding my own touches. When I did check out stories, I would pour over the pictures and imagine how I could recreate what the artist had done and how I might have designed the scene differently.
There are no mistakes in art.
Mr. Martinez
Naturally, I loved art class in school. I excelled, winning or placing in any contest that was available. I loved my teachers and soaked up all they had to impart. I still remember Mr. Martinez’s lesson that “there are no mistakes in art.” Mistakes are merely opportunities to pivot and create something previously unimagined. (I wonder if he liked jazz…) How my little perfectionist self needed to hear that – and how I need to remember it still!
I headed straight to my seat in the audience – in the middle of the song!
The first time I remember participating in a musical performance was in church as an elementary school student. My Sunday school teacher invited me to sing in the children’s choir that morning. Ever wanting to please my teachers, I said, “yes.” However, as soon as I stood in front of the church and saw all the people looking at us, I froze. I headed straight to my seat in the audience (in the middle of the song!), vowing never to do anything like that to my little introverted self ever again!
Fast forward to the fifth grade and Ms. Fox’s art class. (We never could wrap our brains around the fact that her last name was Fox but that she always wore leopard print! The minds of children!) I remember her as one of those teachers who didn’t really like children all that much. She was always slightly annoyed and seemed to have limited patience for us. Needless to say, she didn’t appreciate it very much when I made my friends laugh by making my best Jafar face (from Disney’s Aladdin). It was very convincing if I do say so myself! Though, having also been a teacher, I can’t blame her now for being frustrated. However, being so loudly reprimanded before the entire class, justified or not, was absolutely mortifying! Is there a worse punishment for a goody-too-shoes introvert?! I could not imagine staying in art class after that, no matter how much I loved it! Since crawling under my desk and disappearing was not an option, I decided to do the only thing I knew to avoid her class in the sixth grade. I joined the band.
My dad, rightly judging my reasons for wanting to be in the band as ridiculous, let me know that the only way it would happen was for me to play the trumpet – the free one he had lying in the closet. But I had made up my mind, and I was determined.
I had made up my mind, and I was determined.
Already a year behind, as my peers started learning their instruments in the fifth grade, I spent the summer before sixth grade trying to figure it out. With my Dad’s help with some of the fingerings, sheet music from the church bulletin, and a burning desire to keep Ms. Fox in my rearview mirror, I made quick progress, despite frequent breaks for lightheadedness.
I’ll be forever grateful to my first band director, Mr. Funderburk. Many band directors do not let students start band a year behind. Thankfully, not only did he make an exception for me, but he also spent time with me after school to ensure that I caught up. (As a band director, I always allowed beginners in my non-beginner bands for this reason. I never regretted it!) Thanks, Mom, for always ensuring that I had a ride home and that Mr. Funderburk had snacks and sodas to get him through!
I loved band class just as much as I ever loved art.
By this time, I had fallen in love with the trumpet. I loved band class just as much as I ever loved art. I couldn’t wait to go home to practice and learn something new! And that terrified girl who ran off the church choir stage? She loved playing so much that she didn’t care whether she was alone in her room or on stage in front of the whole school! It has been 30 years since I started playing that old trumpet, and I could not imagine my life without it!
