When I was in third grade, my grandma bought me my first saxophone. It was shiny, sturdy, and perfectly serviceable for a beginner, but more than that, it was a sign of her belief in me. She saw something in my budding love for music and nurtured it with quiet encouragement. By the time I’d outgrown that starter instrument, she surprised me with a professional saxophone—an upgrade so extraordinary I could hardly believe it.
I named her Baby.
Baby wasn’t just an instrument; she was an extension of me. With her extra keys and sleek design, she made me feel special, like I’d been given a secret weapon. I was fiercely protective—no one touched Baby without my express permission, and even then, I watched like a hawk. Her case traveled with me to countless rehearsals, performances, and competitions. Baby carried me to Honors Band, District Band, State Band, and eventually into college. Together, we turned hours of practice into melodies that filled auditoriums and quiet practice rooms alike.
Now, Baby rests in the corner of my music room, a little older and quieter, but no less loved. Every time I see her, I think of my grandma—the woman who believed in me so deeply that she gifted me not just an instrument, but the confidence to strive for excellence. Baby is more than a saxophone; she’s a reminder of those lessons, my grandma’s unwavering support, and the belief that hard work and passion can take you far.
#ChildhoodMemories #MusicJourney #SaxophoneLife #GrandmaLove #SentimentalThings #MusicRoom #BandLife #InstrumentLove #HonorsBand #PerformanceAttitude