I decided in fourth grade that I would be a cello player. It happened during one of my sister's orchestra concerts I was undoubtedly forced to attend; during an upbeat and peppy number, with lots of minor and mediocre choreography so as not to confuse the grade school children, the sixth graders spun their cellos. Right then and there I decided I, too, would play the cello. And I guess my parents thought so too, because soon after I was the sole possessor of a beautiful, half size, Engelhardt cello. A month or so in, however, I realized it took a lot of work to actually play the cello. A waste of time, it seemed, to a precocious nine year old who had TV to watch and barbies to play with. Plus, I could already spin it fine - I had that down after, like, 2 practice days. Bet he had to practice to do that. I don't remember how long I kept up the ruse of playing an instrument. I'd go in my room to practice, hit a few strings (I ...
learning to refocus