In my earliest days on this earth, we lived in an apartment building. At the time in question, I must have been about 4 or 5. It was a beautiful summer day, I was in shorts and a polo shirt. Walking along on the sidewalk just outside our apartment, I suddenly heard for the very first time the most glorious sounds ever: a marching band.
I literally froze with one foot in front of the other, thrilled to the core with that music. It was just too good for human ears. Well I recovered sufficiently to hop the fence behind the house, and race to the Emily Bill Playground where the band was practising.
I was transfixed. There was nothing going on in the whole world except that glorious music, coming from those great big guys (high schoolers?) who marched up and down the playground in perfect formation. It was the happiest, most wonderful thing I'd ever experienced. I can still remember the melody.
Not too long after that I had sticks and a little snare drum that tied to my belt. When I'd hear them strike up, I'd grab my stuff, zip over there and try to march with them. I'd wait until they'd stopped, then I would line up with front rank, drumsticks ready.
The drum major would blow the whistle, make a magic move with his baton, and we'd all start marching and playing. But no matter how fast I moved my little legs, the band marched way, way ahead of me.
It wasn't totally discouraging though. At least I could hear the music., and they'd soon be coming back towards me.
Then, Fantasia came out, and that set off another series of musical thrills compliments of Walt Disney.
My love affair with music was off and running.