As Season 9 of American Idol creeps toward the finale, millions of children across this great nation of ours are taking voice lessons, polishing their Rock Band lead vocals, and envisioning the day when they, too, will have the opportunity to showcase their talents on what is often referred to as the biggest stage on television. Because American Idol’s early predecessor, Star Search (R.I.P. Ed McMahon), was not on Phil and Syl’s (short) list of approved television programs, I never aspired to be a rock star. In light of my general fear of going straight to hell for musically transmitting Satan’s message to the masses, I planned to achieve fame and fortune in the world of music by plotting an alternate course- the violin.
I began my campaign to convince Phil and Syl to underwrite my dream at the age of six. Naturally, Phil and Syl were skeptical. Aside from the fact that both of them are deaf, neither side of the family boasted a single member with any demonstrable musical talent. For two years, I begged Phil and Syl to let me take violin lessons, reminding them at every opportunity that the Bible instructs us to “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” Perhaps realizing that I was unwavering in my determination to become the next Yo-Yo Ma (albeit wielding a violin instead of a cello), or perhaps deciding that I needed to taste the bitterness of defeat for myself (I suspect it was the latter), Syl finally agreed to sign me up for violin lessons.
On the day of my first violin lesson, I nervously clutched my violin case, plopped down in a chair in my teacher Mrs. Neal’s office, and waited for her to unearth my raw talent. Our first lesson began unceremoniously, as Mrs. Neal identified each part of the violin and made me repeat after her. At long last, Mrs. Neal told me to pick up my beloved instrument. I lifted the instrument to my chin and allowed Mrs. Neal to position it correctly between my chin and shoulder. I then snatched up my bow, ready to unleash the concerto bubbling inside of me, when Mrs. Neal burst said bubble by taking the bow out of my hand and informing me that I would have to learn to pluck the strings by hand first.
During the honeymoon phase of my violin-playing days, I came home from school every day, scurried up to my room and began playing what I imagined would be my Julliard audition piece: Mary Had a Little Lamb (this is the only piece I learned to pluck with any level of skill). For weeks, I dutifully picked up my violin and plucked the strings until my fingers were red and raw. After the first few lessons, however, Mrs. Neil and I both realized that I was no virtuoso. Unable to admit defeat that quickly, I was determined to keep up appearances and continued to “practice” for forty-five agonizing minutes every day. Gradually, my practice sessions grew to mean anything but. Said sessions now included, but were not limited to, nap time, snack time, reading time, and playing my violin in every manner except the manner in which it was intended to be played. As a precocious 4 year old, Jemina often stopped by and watched. One day, I revealed to her my newfound talent: playing the violin with a comb—bluegrass-style, I called it. “Anyone can play this thing with a bow…BOR—ING!” I told her. “Only a true musician can make this baby sing bluegrass-style.” At this, Jemina pondered a moment before nodding in agreement. Several practice sessions later, in a moment of weakness, I confided in her my growing hatred for the instrument, blaming it for failing to unleash my musical genius quickly enough.
Periodically, Syl also dropped by during my seemingly interminable practice sessions. As soon as I heard her coming, I’d hurriedly throw down my Nancy Drew book, wipe the drool and/or crumbs from my chin, and snatch up my violin. When Syl peeked in, she’d see me, fake smile plastered up against the chin rest of my violin, bow in hand. In a transparent attempt to simulate the relationship between a hearing parent and child, Syl always asked me to “play something.” I then focused on the sheet music to which I was illiterate, and poorly reenacted the performance style of every violinist I’d ever seen on television—my body jerking around spastically from the waist up, hair flying, limbs akimbo, bow screeching over the strings while the violin stuck to my chin like a giant protruding tumor. Following the completion of each “piece,” Syl always clapped with pride while my siblings’ ears bled.
My certainty that I was getting away with musical murder lasted until the day Syl barged into my room with an enormous video camera perched on top of her shoulder, red light blinking. I immediately threw down my bluegrass comb when Syl began gesticulating wildly behind the camera. As Jemina and I both looked at her with horror, she instructed me to commence a violin-based show and tell. The Boyd Family Video of 1989 contains a scene that goes as follows:
Me, ears and face burning, sweat beading up on my eyebrows and nose: This is my violin. First, you have to learn how to pluck it, then you can learn how to play by using the bow.
Jemina, eyes lit up with malicious glee: Joy! Joy! Joy! Look at me!
Me, looking at Syl behind the camera, feeding me lines: Sigh. I like my violin.
Jemina: Joy! Joy! Joy!
Me, to Jemina: What?!?
Jemina: Do you LOVE your violin?
Me, barely audible: Shut. Up.
Thankfully, I was able to hem and haw about the various parts of the violin, demonstrate my plucking skills, and fumble around long enough for Syl to grow weary enough of holding the thirty-plus pound camera on her shoulder to turn it off. Needless to say I quickly announced my retirement from the classical music field shortly thereafter, much to the dismay of my parents and the applause of my siblings. Aside from a brief stint as a snare drummer in junior high school, I never again pursued a career in music following my ill-fated attempt to become the next Yo-Yo Ma. And wisely so, for while we Boyds are multi-talented, our greatness is confined to certain realms (e.g., mass producing sandwiches, collecting cans, and the like). So we leave the instrument playing and vocals to those better suited than we are. Everyone wins this way. Trust us.
