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When I was 5 years old, my grandfather brought home a gift. It was a black case with a handle. One end was large and round, the other small and straight. When you opened the case, a child-sized violin and bow were nestled on the purple felt lining.

“This is for you,” my grandfather said. “Mozart learned to play one when he was about your age. I want you to play as beautifully as your Aunt Rene plays hers.”

Rene was a my mother’s sister. He was right. She played the violin beautifully.

My grandfather hired our next door neighbor, Virginia, to teach me. Virginia and her sister Grace were visions of beauty.

Virginia was 16, dark haired and eyed, with a finely sculpted nose, high cheekbones and kissable lips. Her sister Grace was blonde and equally stunning. As a child, I fell in love with both of them.

At a recital, Grace played piano while her sister played a difficult Mozart piece on the violin. Then Virginia sat down at the piano and accompanied Grace on the violin playing Chopin. The two were amazing.

To me the afternoon lessons with Virginia were wonderful. I could smell her perfume and she would take my small hands and show me how to handle the violin for each note of the piece she was teaching.

I practiced diligently, but the music that came out sounded like a strangling cat. My indulgent grandmother made me practice in a back room with the doors closed.

This went on for several painful weeks. I suspect Virginia kept at it because, while praying for a miracle, she did not want to disappoint me or my grandfather.

One afternoon my grandfather came home, heard the squawking and asked Virginia to join him in the living room. I could hear them through the door.

“I don’t think he’s old enough for the violin,” Virginia said. “He’s not Mozart. He practices hard but he does not play. Maybe in a few years he will be ready.”

My grandfather didn’t say anything that I could hear but he must have accepted it.

“Maybe he should try the piano,” Virginia said. “Grace is a good teacher.”

We did not have a piano and, after this, as much as my grandfather loved me, he was not about to buy one to find out if his grandson was the next Paderewski.

Virginia came back into the room and asked me to sit beside her.

“Jerry,” she said, “this will be our last lesson. I know you have tried very hard, but you are not yet old enough for the violin. It is a difficult instrument to play.”

She must have seen the look, not of disappointment but despair, in my 5-year-old eyes. Would I never see her again?

Then she reached over and hugged me. I felt her precious arms around me and hoped she would never let go.

The next week Grace started my piano lessons at their home next door.

Now when I went there to practice every day I could see both sisters.

I prayed with all my heart that my grandfather would never buy us a piano.

Next: Every kids needs a big brother.

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