Born with a Bow

When I think about my childhood, what stands out most isn’t a single big event, but the little things my mom made sure I experienced. She was always taking me somewhere — a small art show, a park concert, a random weekend class she found in the community center newsletter.

One afternoon, she brought me to the local library. There was a small violin performance happening in one of the open rooms. Nothing fancy — just a few people, folding chairs, and that quiet air that only a library seems to have. I remember sitting there, not really understanding what was going on, but feeling something.

The music filled the room in a way that felt both fragile and alive. I didn’t think much of it then. I was just a kid who probably wanted to go home and play. But that moment stayed with me somehow. I think that’s where it began — my fascination with the violin.

Looking back now, I realize my mom wasn’t just giving me “activities.” She was giving me pieces of the world — small glimpses that would later turn into passions. That simple day at the library didn’t change my life overnight, but it quietly planted something that grew over time.

And that’s what I love about memories like this. You don’t know when something small will become the beginning of something that shapes who you are.