My Dad started me on piano before I entered kindergarten, but the big old upright with the baby grand harp that stood in my grandparent's house where I was born wasn't "mine" if you know what I mean. It was "ours"...

Pop was a Dental Surgeon who also played Trumpet and Piano.

What I wanted more than anything was my own big shiny gold Trumpet.

Dad said I would have to wait until my permanent front teeth for that.

8th birthday, I had kind of given up on the asking, Dad came home with a black case and handed it to me. No wrapping or anything, and he said, "I suppose you're ready for this."

Inside was an Olds Cornet, a Bach 10-1/2CW mouthpiece, a small vial of valve oil and a little music manuscript book that Pop had taken the time to write out the first Schlossberg study, the ye olde chromatic descending and ascending from middle C down to the low G# and back, in whole notes.

More important than the shiny horn, the constant time with Dad and his tutelage as I learned to make my first notes became the priceless part of the thing. "Don't PUSH" (Yeah, he was one of those "non-pressure" guys...)

Man, I was happy as a pig in slop.


--Mac

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