When you ask someone, who has been the most influential person in their life, answers usually include at least one teacher. I am no exception. Here is my story of two of those.

Students spend a large portion of their young lives with teachers and coaches, which positions them to be of great influence and example. It also affords them opportunities to observe students and offer suggestions for expanding their knowledge and skills.

Fortunately, I was blessed to have a wise (and very witty!) Grade 1 teacher, who advised my parents to consider adding music lessons to my education. And I am forever grateful!

Music. The most beautiful language of all. It’s ancient. It’s universal.

And because of her, I started learning to speak it, appreciate and value it, at a young age.

Mrs. Pat Siggelkow, this insightful teacher, had observed that I was bored with the school curriculum and she felt the addition of music lessons would offer a challenge that would enhance my learning experience.

Thankfully, my parents respected her opinion and took her advice, and my musical education began.

I’m so impressed that even at the age of 6, I was offered my choice of instrument.

We already had an old upright piano that my Mom played (and my baby brother loved to climb to the top of!), but for some reason, when I was asked what instrument I’d like to learn to play, I chose an old violin that my Dad had bought at an auction as part of a package deal. It wasn’t something he was bidding on or was even aware was in the bundle. I can’t recall when I first saw it or how I knew it was there.

There is a family story that recounts when Dad first took it out of the case and attempted to play it. One of my little brothers burst into terrified tears and needed much consoling. So, the dusty old instrument was returned to the hard, black, red-velvet-lined case and forgotten. But for some reason, I was intrigued by it. I’m not sure if I’d witnessed that first mini-concert, or had somehow discovered the violin tucked away in the attic, but whatever way I became aware of it, it was my choice of instrument for music lessons.

Now, to find an instructor. And this is where another influential teacher enters my life.

What are the chances that within the small rural community where I attended school, there was an older gentleman who played several instruments, had been in a family band many years before, taught music classes in school, could fix almost any instrument and had a fascinating shop with all kinds of parts and pieces! And, it just so happened, the violin was his favorite instrument!

Mr. Dewy McPeek was thrilled to have a student interested in learning to play the violin, and to have an opportunity to pass on his knowledge. He was such a kind, patient teacher, with a subtle gentlemanly nature, who had spent a lifetime studying and sharing the intricacies of music.

He started with the basics, teaching me how to read notes as they floated on the lines running across the pages of the vintage music books he pulled from his collection for my lessons. These lessons continued for several years, with some of my brothers joining later, also learning to play the violin.

I had inadvertently (and naively) chosen one of most difficult instruments, one with no frets on the neck and a bow to properly tighten, rosin and draw perpendicularly across the strings. But I did learn. I even learned to play with others, a piano accompanist and my brothers. But just like my aversion to coloring books (read my “GET MESSY” post) I would often take creative license with my renditions… Needless to say, this could make it challenging to play with others. I saw the same tendencies in my children when they were taking music lessons. They were also blessed with a most amazing and creative instructor. She even encouraged them to interpret the music in their own way, and the next time through, to play it as it was written.

How can you not grow to love music when it’s presented in a way that isn’t rigid, but allows for creativity?

The original violin pulled from the auction bundle, was a full size one, much too large for a 6-year-old, but my instructor had other sizes in his music shop. I started with a ½ size, which he made more comfortable for my little collar bone, by adding a square green sponge attached to the underside with elastic bands!

His shop wasn’t a retail store, but rather an old, repurposed garage or storage building, covered in flaked, weathered white paint, that stood in the large yard near their house. It was such a fascinating, almost magical, place in my memory. We would traipse out there to look for an obscure part to repair or adjust the violins and somewhere amongst the various instruments and tools, from the bins and drawers and dusty counters, he would pull the right gidget or gadget he was looking for. He’d make the repair and then, to my great pleasure, he’d raise the instrument, clamp it under his chin, draw the bow across the strings and out of the same violin I’d been screeching along on, came the most melodious sounds.

Pure magic to me. I was mesmerized!

I’m sure he saw the pleasure on my face and understood how this gift of learning the language of music would continue to bless my life forever, as it had done for him.

In the background was sweet, petite Mrs. McPeek. She would beam when we arrived at their home, so pleased to have us visit for lessons, knowing the joy it brought to her husband. We filled her front room with the screeching, scratching sounds of novice violinists, yet I suspect it was a highlight to their week. I loved the collection of Reader’s Digest magazines, stacked on a shelf beside the padded living room chair, that entertained me while waiting for my brothers to finish their lessons. She would offer us a little snack or drink to tie us over, as we usually came directly after school, not having to ride the bus for an hour back to the farm that day. To be honest, these days were a highlight for us too!

When I think of all the activities I later yearned to participate in, along with my school friends, the sports, dance lessons, parties, etc., I am grateful that one of the only exceptions for making the extra trips, was for lessons, music festivals, concerts and talent shows where I performed with my violin.

Now, back to Grade 1 and my fond memories of the funny, feisty, red-headed teacher…

(Please join me next week for “The Beautiful Language of Music” (part 2)!)

In the meantime, crank that tunage, dance where you please and sing out loud!!

xo Deena