I can't sleep at night. I can't wake up in the morning.Should I maybe settle an ancient question that disturbs me.
When I was five years old, I lived with my parents and my brothers in Firenze, Italy.
I remember going to my lessons with my mother and sometimes my father. I remember the snow. I remember my teacher, Maestro Edi Perpitch.
Last year, We went to see him at his retired village near Rome. I didn't see him since.
It took us twenty years to see each other again. But we didn't forget a thing.
We had an extraordinary meal, a feast with ten sorts of wine. In the end of this feast, my former teacher asked me: Do you remember who chose the violin for you??I answered right away: of course, it was me. When I was five years old, my parents asked me "what do u want to play?". I chose immediately the violin.
My parents looked at me with a smile. They said it is very cute to think that way but, actually, they pushed me into the violin: Since my big brother was already playing the piano, obviously, (?) I had to play the wonderful violin.
My teacher Edi raised his glass of wine in the air and laughed.
"It was me who led Michael into violin, isn't that so?".I was troubled. I could sware it was me who chose the violin.
Actually, I think I was born with it. But I was the only one to see it until the age of five when all these adults started to take me seriously.
