remember your weekly music lesson?

For the past six days you did the minimum. You raced through your songs and asked, “Is that good enough, can I be done?” Your mother gave you lectures about money paid and future satisfaction and good old fashion responsibility. There might have even been something about how, “this was your idea.” It’s crazy. You were like three or four years old when you asked to play an instrument.

Back then it seemed like a great idea. You had no idea of what you were getting into. How could she hold you accountable for something you thought up when you were so little? How could you possibly have known about Star Wars Wii games, 10 speed bikes, and Disney Channel TV shows? It was Saturday—you had other things to do. How come you didn’t get a cool mom who would just let you quit?

Fine, you thought to yourself. I’ll just do this and get it over with. You knew the music. It wasn’t like you totally didn’t practice.

You grumped through the first song.

Your teacher suggested you do it as a duet. 

You thought, “Wow, that kinda sounded good.” You got sucked in. You actually tried for a few minutes and it was amazing how cool it sounded. Your mother looked all, “I told you so,” and you didn’t even care.

You were a musician.

You were concentrating.

You were like gonna be like the next Mozart.

You seriously were all about that, until the next day when your mom said, “Cole, let’s get going with violin today,” and then it all started over again…