It all began in the fourth grade. I can't recall why, but my teacher played the class a recording of an orchestra. One part was especially high- pitched and was pointed out as the piccolo. My poor little fourth-grade mind got this info slightly jumbled. So, one week later, when it was time to sign up for the school "band", I circled 'clarinet'.

No one immediately realized my mistake. My grandmother told me stories about how she used to play the clarinet. She wished she still had her instrument; we could play duets! It motivated me to sit and squawk away every day after school. Needless to say, I didn't improve much.

Band was at 8:00 am for half an hour every Tuesday and Thursday. (This was very early back then. It was very painful to wake up in time.) Once, I got to school only to realize that my clarinet case was empty: no clarinet. I panicked until that afternoon it was discovered that my two-years-old sister thought it was a cool toy. She had hidden the clarinet behind the couch and eaten my cork grease. It was in one of those chapstick tubes and she liked eating chapstick.

Four months later, I gave up the squeaky black tube because my fingers were too narrow to properly cover the keys.