Saxophones and Me

         The summer between my fourth and fifth grade years, my parents took a financial gamble, not in the stock market or anything as grand and relatively safe as that, but in me. I had begged and begged for weeks for them to buy me an alto saxophone, and, finally, with much reservation and skepticism, they purchased their fickle ten-year-old daughter a used, $250 dollar instrument. Whether or not they believe so, I know it was the best investment that they ever made.

         That first day, I could not be torn away from it. I laid the case gently on the floor and carefully opened it. I sat half the afternoon just looking at my beautiful instrument, too much in awe of it to even try to play it yet. My mother caught me gazing at my saxophone and told me, “Gwyneth, it’s not going to do you any good sitting in its case. Take it out.” So I did. I took it from its case and held it protectively in my arms and, not knowing what else to do with it, soon put it back.

         As summer drew to a close and school started up again, I felt great excitement for I would soon begin band and there learn how to make my shiny piece of metal produce melodious music. Band came and weeks passed. And the noise I could get out of my instrument was anything but music.

         More time passed; I moved into a new bedroom and a new school with my saxophone in tow. The initial squeaks and squawks of sound ever so slowly manifested themselves into notes, scales, phrases. More and more, band became the most prominent extracurricular in my life. My sound improved and music increased in difficulty. My parents stopped telling me to “stop that racket” whenever I practiced and instead listened to me play.

         The summer between my tenth and eleventh grade years, my parents gave me another gift: private lessons. Under my instructor’s tutelage, my previously slow improvement sped up rapidly. Junior year saw me as second chair in the highest band as well as a member of two ensembles. By this time, I had owned and been playing my saxophone for seven years. Those seven years were showing not just in the extra scratches and worn finishing, but in the tone quality as well. My precious saxophone was growing old.

         My private instructor informed my parents that I was playing as well as my instrument would allow and that they should consider purchasing me a semi-professional or professional instrument. For months, they discussed brands, prices, dealers, and insurance. I was doubtful that anything would come from these discussions, as I knew that the price was above what my parents could afford. How greatly I underestimated their resourcefulness.

         With my 18th birthday came a perfectly new and untouched saxophone. I was speechless. Holding my breath I reached out my hand and laid it on the case. “Go ahead,” my parents said, “It’s yours.” I took the case, laid it gently on the floor and carefully opened the lid. For the rest of the evening, I sat gazing at my instrument, still too much in awe of it to play it just yet.