My mother kept me practicing even when I didn’t want to. I remember once in a violin lesson I was trying to play “Brindisi,” a terrible piece musically, but marvelous for problems of technique. My teacher had told me to memorize it, and I’d made a half-hearted attempt. Suddenly, in frustrated rage, I grabbed “Brindisi,” crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. My teacher in a steely voice said, “Dougan, pick that up, iron it, and it had better be memorized at your next lesson.” With that, I was dismissed. I did ‘iron’ “Brindisi,” memorize it, and never had another such outburst. Deep in my heart I knew I was grateful to my mother and my teacher for not letting me be a quitter. My violin has always been an integral part of my life.
2025 Patricia Dougan Dalvit
This article appears in A critical loss for District 186.
