ChapterTwo – Middle School
A tale of Music Nerdiness and Band Geekiness by Carolyn Anderson
...As the year progressed, I got somewhat decent at playing my violin. I (somewhat reluctantly) joined an after school program directed by Mrs. Wolff, who taught orchestra at the middle school for grades 6 to 8th. I was scared to go, but my mom forced me, but I immediately warmed up to Mrs. Wolff when she gave us Oreos after every rehearsal. I know, I know, I'm very easy to win over. Gradually I got better and better at it, and that made me incredibly happy. We had a concert at the end of the year, and then elementary school ended.
The summer passed and I continued to practice, although not much. When school started, I was neither better nor worse than I had been at the end of fifth grade. Orchestra met two days a week during a study hall period, and every other week we met a third day. Band met at the same times we did, and they actually had a Band Room. All we had was Mrs. Wolff's office to have lessons in at various times during the day, and we rehearsed outside of the auditorium. Those three years spent in middle school was where all the wars took root, but I'll tell you about that later.
In seventh grade, I joined the chorus as well as orchestra, and I also excelled in my sight-reading test at the beginning of the year and I became first chair in the second violin section. Everyone looked up to me in my section, and I felt so superior. It may make me seem very vain and conceited, but I thrived in being above them. I learned so much and I played happily. I didn't practice very much, but hey, I was first chair. My mom tried to push me to try to become a first violin, but I never mentioned it to Mrs. Wolff. I'd rather be a first chair second violinist rather than be last chair first violinist. Plus, my section clearly depended on me, no offense to them of course.
With my overblown ego of being the first of the seconds, I began to practice less and less. I picked up my violin only once or twice each week. Sometimes I even got to three times, but that was out of sheer boredom. Yet by some stroke of luck, I did improve. It must have been Mrs. Wolff's motivation and overall good teaching. She'd tease us and yell at us and get incredibly mad at us sometimes, but most of the time she'd be in good humor. Except for when she's mad at us, she always was in good humor.
Two girls named Emily and Kirsten were in my section, and they liked to tease me sometimes. They'd poke my butt with their violin bows through the back of the chair, or they'd tap the top of my head with their bows, then as soon as I turn around, they'd look at the ceiling, feigning innocence. Kirsten even named my violin for me. Albert... Albert was his name. She said it was after Albert Einstein, "...because you're so smart!" It only occurs to me now that these were my only friends in orchestra. I could match faces with names, and those with instruments, but still, I was practically an outsider - a laugh here, a smile there, occasionally sharing a stand when they forgot their music, but I wasn't really friends with any of them. Wow, that sure changed quickly.
By eighth grade, I was pretty damn good at violin, if-I-say-so-myself. Granted I never understood what articulation meant, my dynamics were always a little bit loud or a little bit too quiet, I had NO clue what key signatures meant and how to apply that to playing, I had no clue how to tune, and shifting to third or even second position was an out-right IMPOSSIBILITY, but... I was satisfied with my level of playing. I was an honors student in all my academics, and I was still first chair. When Mrs. Wolff approached me during my lunch period, I was sort of in disbelief when she asked me if I wanted to switch to the first violin section. I nodded and spat out a weak 'Yea, sure.'
Can you see my head swelling from where you are? .....I'm sure you could see my inflated egotistic self-esteem for miles...
I didn't even go to the back of the section with the last chair first violins. I sat in the same spot I did as a second, only about an inch or two over. I just wedged myself in as third-chair, next to two girls named Tara and Krista. The notes were higher and the rhythms much harder. But we got to play the melody rather than harmony, and we were always heard.
Yet again, I kept practicing less and less. At this point, I was practicing Albert about once a week, if he was lucky. This idea of improving without trying stuck in my head, and I got used to succeeding without bleeding, and winning without losing... What a horrible habit to get into.
By the time the end of the year rolled along, this was so imprinted on my brain it's almost disgusting to reflect back upon. The orchestra teacher from the high school came on occasion just to "visit" us, although we all knew I was to recruit us for the high school orchestra. I ignored his presence as much as possible. I was so annoyed with all the high school recruiters. No, I don't want to go to any of the agriculture-centered schools nearby. No, I don't want to go to any of the technical schools nearby. No, I don't want to go to a catholic school again. No, I don't want to do any of that. Yet again, it was my arrogance speaking and dismissing them all. At least my insolence made the right choice, this time.
At the end of eighth grade, I was sad to leave Mrs. Wolff. Actually, I was more than just sad – I was incredibly depressed and on the verge of tears for the longest time. I was relieved and proud to get rid of my ¾-size violin and be upgraded to a full-size violin, whose name remained to be Albert. Al for short, Albert for his full name, and if I wanted to go all out, his name was Albertos van Violinnington. It never really occurred to me that I could quit orchestra next year at the High School. Not once did I ever consider it. In part, it was my own pride and conceitedness at having become a first violin and in part it also was that I didn't think I had the choice.
That summer I didn't practice even once. It's frustrating to say so, and then put it in writing for me to keep rereading and rereading. Frustrating in the sense that I have no choice but to admit how conceited and self-absorbed I was. I exalted myself no matter how badly I was, and whenever in a discussion with another about my progress, I would even humble myself purposefully in order to be exalted by that person. It disgusts me to look back on that, and, with that, I must continue the story...