The Robertson Clan and the Violin From Japan

As a small child of four, my memories are vivid only in small places. I remember the feeling of extended family. I remember the feeling of belonging. I remember the feeling of being a part of something big, the John and Edna Robertson Clan. I remember the feeling of anticipation before our summer or Thanksgiving reunions. Some of my later childhood memories include, Grandma Robertson’s homemade sugar cookies and hand sewn beaded Christmas stockings. I remember the funny cousins, the funny Uncle, the Aunt who made divine divinity and which Aunt told the best stories. Camping at Yosemite, zip lines, home made root beer, the first version of Pong, go karts in the rain, swimming on hot summer nights, Rose, rose around the camp fire, hiking, biking through tunnels, rafting down rivers, playing Rook, the Round Robin, hay rides, fasting and praying for Grandpa Robertson when he had his stroke, are all memories of the intense effort and plan to have a united close knit Robertson family.Being the last of Bert and Mary’s Family, my memories are glimpses of established traditions years in the making. I can visualize vague scenes of Christmas mornings, Dad handing out the presents, baby dolls and strollers, caroling on Christmas Eve, swimming in our above ground pool and eating peaches off the tree, diving for pennies, chore lists, Family Home Evening, ice cream at Thrifty’s, and going to church as a family on Sundays and Wednesdays and Thursday mornings and going visiting teaching with my Mom. I do have vivid memories that as our family would gather to kneel in prayer each night, we would pray for the two oldest cousins on their missions, Jim in Japan and Bruce in Hawaii. While those things bond families together, other things bond children to their Dads. Although I do not know the details, somehow, as Jim was half a world away, my Dad had arranged for him to purchase a quarter size violin, perfect for a four year old, me. Dad was working on his master’s degree at SDSU and they needed some trial students for a new way of learning the violin, the Suzuki Method. Dad had a little girl who fit the requirement for the program and I was signed up. I sensed that this was something out of the ordinary. In my world of hand me downs, I actually had my own violin and my own book with a record inside. It was a beautiful violin with a shiny golden honey finish. Each week I would get my violin case down off the shelf. I can still remember the feel of the handle in my hand as I ran to the car. We rode in our white Lincoln Continental with heavy doors. I sat low, there in the front seat with my Dad. I don’t recall what we talked about. I don’t recall how many weeks or months the program lasted, I don’t recall the teacher, I don’t even recall the actual program on campus, but I do know that we took the freeway that had the big curvy ramp before we parked. I got to ride in the car with my Dad, just me. When you come from something as big as the Robertson Clan, the alone time with my Dad was my favorite part and what I remember!From Esther Dernbach