WELCOME CLASS OF 2032
This past week, I had the opportunity to do something that I had never done in my thirty-two years as a music educator.
Conduct at Carnegie Hall? Nope, I've never even been inside it, much less stood on the stage. Seriously, they're always closed when I am in town. Coincidence? Maybe not.
Win a Grammy for Music Education? Not even close. But, if they had a category for best Band Camp Pep Talk, Dr. Tim would be the Taylor Swift of the Grammys, and I would be Kenny G (he actually won one in 1994!).
Work with John Williams? Fell short again. I did meet him once, and according to the subsequent restraining order, once was more than enough. Apparently, camping in his front yard qualifies as stalking."
What did I do that was so monumental that I had to write about it?
I handed a bunch of kids their very first instrument.
It's unbelievable to think that in my thirty-two years in music education, I've never actually handed a child an instrument for the very first time.
No real nights. No petting zoos. No first day of elementary school. Nada, zip, squat, zilch. The joy of handing a young person their very first instrument had eluded me.
Mind you, I've taught thousands of kids, done 2,000+ workshops, conducted more concerts than I can count, but that moment—that very first handoff—had somehow escaped me.
Until now. And let me tell you, I wasn't prepared.
First of all, I was asked to demo instruments. What?
Sure, I took woodwind pedagogy (a bazillion years ago), but playing clarinet in public? Hard pass. The flute? Well, just about anybody can make a beginning sound. Thank goodness the saxophone practically demoes itself; otherwise, there would be a LOT of percussion and brass-only beginning bands in Chandler, Arizona right now
So, there I was, squeaking my way through instrument demonstrations when bad turned to worse. Someone asked, Can you measure someone for a viola?(Spoiler: I cannot - can't we just use t-shirt size and go with that?) It turns out, my solution of small, medium, and large was too obvious. Violas come in incremental inches. And riddle me this, Batman: Why do violins come in quarter sizes but violas are measured in inches? This makes no sense.
The moments kept coming:
One kid put the flute together backwards and told me I was the one who did it. (He may have been right.)
A future trumpet parent asked me, Is it supposed to sound like this? To which I responded: Only for four or five years.
A student picked up a trombone, extended the slide, and immediately smacked the kid in front of him: first notes and first lawsuit. (I teared up just a bit.)
Even amidst the chaos, awkwardness, squeaks, and squeals, it was a joy-filled evening.
As the kids played all of the instruments, I would show parents pictures of my boys making their first snds and say, Make sure you record this, you're going to want to remember this moment when they are older.
They would all tear up and immediately reach for their phones
Handing a child an instrument for the first time is like giving them a key—not just to music, but to a whole new world. If only they or their parents knew
I have written about firsts in past newsletters. First time on a school bus, under the lights, marching in a section, performing on a stage, etc. But those were about firsts associated with being in high school.
They were "firsts," but they weren't "FIRSTS." First time assembling an instrument, making a sound, and watching your friends and classmates do the same thing. THOSE ARE TRUE FIRSTS.
The older I get, the more I realize that firsts are sacred. Firsts are what anchor our memories and shape our stories. Think about it:
Your first car ('76 Chevy Vega).
Your first concert (Rush).
Your first crush (Charlotte Matthews).
Your first time conducting a group (middle school second band).
These kids? The first time they hold an instrument isn't just a fun moment—it's a life-changing event. The very first time they hear themselves make a sound—as bad as it is—they smile from ear to ear. That's the beauty of it. We're not just handing out instruments—we're handing out better futures.
I'll tell you what—after 32 years, even I felt the weight of that first. I thought I'd seen it all (and heard it all), but I was wrong - because I had never been there for the first.
So let me officially say it: Welcome to the Music Class of 2032! I'm so excited you're here. Congratulations on your first and thank you for being a part of my first.
After 32 years, your first reminds me why I did this in the first place.
Have a great week,
Scott