"Eeeee-er-eeeee, eeeee-er-eeeeee;
eee-er-ee-er-ee-errr-eeeeeeee . . ."
The beginning tune to one of the most beautiful violin solos I had ever heard, right in my own classroom. The squeaking of the strings and bow, a screech every few strokes, the slightly off-beat cadence, the "whoops" quietly spoken when a mistake was made - and yet I couldn't help thinking that this version of "Edelweiss" was my favorite by far.
Step back in time with me about ten minutes earlier. One of my darling (well, most days they are darling) second grade boys, Joshua, had slipped his way into my room during lunch break, where I was working on some lesson plans. I was shooting the breeze only as one can with an 8 year old, when suddenly, he stopped and pointed at my huge TV.
"Teacher, the music . . ." and immediately began to vigorously and emotionally play an air violin. He was referring to Vivaldi's Four Seasons, which had been keeping me company until this little chatterbox had shown up.
"Oh, very good violin playing, Joshua! You are a master!"
Giggling and a smile came from my student.
"Do you actually play the violin?"
"Ah, yes Teacher. I'm playing Eldjoingss now . . ."
Or at least that's how the title of the song he was trying to say sounded to my ears. After a couple of times of trying to say it and me not repeating back the correct title to him, he got fed up enough to just start singing the first lines of the song, forced operatic vibrato and all. As soon as I got it, I told him that it was actually one of my favorite songs.
His eyes lit up and he stood still for a moment, almost seeming to be frozen by decision. He looked at the clock, which showed there were only seven minutes left until class would begin. Finally, he made his choice. He began to slowly back out of the room while holding up his hands, palms to me and saying slowly, "Stay, Teacher. Just stay." He said this a couple of times, backed out of my room, closed the door, opened it back up, and once again put up his hand in the stop motion, asking me to just stay.
Where was I going to go? To my apartment? Back to America? I'm not sure what was going through his reeling mind, but it cracked me up.
I suddenly heard running feet and gasping a couple minutes later. My door soon flew open and in fell (literally, almost flat on his face) Joshua with his big black violin case in tow.
"Are you going to play for me, Joshua?!"
A nod and fingers quickly freeing his instrument from its confinement were my only responses.
And so we come to where this story began. A boy and his screeching violin, his excitement bubbling over at the opportunity to share his talent with another, brightening that other's day.
All of us have talents. Small, big, or in between, we each have at least one thing in which we excel, or at least could excel in if we wanted. Some have the talent of singing or playing instruments and some have the talent of artistry. Some have been given a talent for listening, while others, for speaking. There are talents of teaching and of learning, of dreaming and of doing, of organizing and of leading. Variety isn't lacking when it comes to the gifts we have been bestowed.
The thing about talents, though, is often times the saying, "Use it or lose it," is too correct. Many times, I fear, we are too nervous to use what we have been given to bring joy to those around us or to make another's life a little easier. We bottle up our talents, worried that someone else with a similar gift is better than us or that what we have isn't good enough for others. Then we cork those bottles and put them on the back shelf, saving them for a time when we can use them in a better way, all the while the only thing they are doing is collecting dust. But if we confine them, how will they grow? A goldfish only grows as large as is suitable for its environment. If, like the goldfish, our talents grow likewise, how can they become any greater when they are shoved away, hidden? How will we enhance even the smallest thing we have been given if it remains set aside and stagnate? If one stays in first grade because they are too afraid to move on and grow the brain they have been given, to fill it with more knowledge, there would be no progress, no enhancement; only stagnation and, eventually, regression.
Like Joshua, we should be excited about what we have to share and about what ways we can grow. Be proud (not arrogant) of what you have been given. Understand that it has been given to you for a reason. Know that you have a choice in how you use it and whether or not you work to make it better. And then realize the potential you have for using it to touch a human heart, change a person's mind, comfort one in need, or shed light onto the life path of a wanderer. A talent is only a talent if it is used. So find yours, use yours . . . or someone else may.
