My Daughter, the Cellist
She was thirteen, and just starting middle school. She felt out-of-place and disliked. It was plain to see that she had no friends. There was no one to talk to, no one to eat lunch with, no one to walk to class with. It seemed that no one liked her.
She struggled with homework and taking tests. She felt like she couldn’t learn anything, couldn’t remember anything, and couldn’t do anything right. No one understood her, cared what happened to her, or even knew she existed. At least that was the way it seemed to her.
Then one day it happened. There was something new in her life, something exciting, something just for her.
This magnificent instrument entered her life. She learned to play. She practiced and practiced and then practiced some more. Before she knew it, she became a member of the school orchestra. Yes, it was wonderful, and her world was better.
Her cello became her constant companion, her best friend. This friend was always there for her, understood her, and never let her down. She could be herself when she played her cello and everything was alright.
She started to make friends at school—friends who played in the orchestra with her. Those friends introduced her to more friends. Soon, friends were calling her at home, walking with her to class, and riding with her on the bus. And she knew—life was good. At least, that was the way it seemed to her.
Three years passed and she entered high school. All the old anxieties came rushing back to her. She was sure it would be the same thing all over again—no one to understand her, no one to care about her, and no friends except for her cello.
She auditioned and placed in the concert orchestra, which was quite a feat for a freshman because freshmen hardly ever played in the concert orchestra. Surely luck played a part in her placement. It never occurred to her that it was her talent that secured her place.
Then something wonderful happened. The other kids told her that she was good; as a matter of fact, they said she was really good. As before, she made new friends, and those friends introduced her to more friends.
By the time she was a junior, she was the first chair—the chair reserved for the best cellist. At last she was really someone, someone of status, someone who played an important part in her orchestra. And she knew—life was good. At least, that was the way it seemed to her.
Then came her senior year, the year that every teenager awaits with eager anticipation. At the final orchestra concert, she and her best friend—her beloved cello—played a solo. She played for an audience of 500 people or more. The piece she played was a difficult one, but she played it perfectly, and her best friend, her cello, did not let her down.
When she finished, there was silence. Oh no, she thought in dismay. They didn’t like it!
Then it happened—a thunderous applause! All those people were clapping for her! One by one, everyone in the auditorium stood up and applauded. She could hardly believe it—a standing ovation! This was a rare thing indeed! But it really was not difficult to understand why this happened. They recognized the talent she had, they loved the beautiful way she played, and they gave her what she truly deserved.
She then knew that she had found her life’s work.
And she thought: Maybe…that’s the way it’s meant to be.