I remember reading Joe Brainard

I remember being out in the forest.

I remember my mom cutting my hair.

I remember being told I should play oboe.

I remember the music teacher saying I had to start with flute.

I remember the doctor telling me my upper lip was too big to play the flute. 

I remember wanting to play the drums.

I remember some special friends boldly playing instruments they didn't know how to play. 

I remember being awed by the stars.  

I remember wondering who I'd be when I got older.

I remember thinking I was old when I wasn't.  

I remember dreaming that I was sitting at the piano playing a piece my brother often played, one I would never be good enough to.

I remember being astonished.

I remember every once in a while being moved by a small bit of music I was practicing.

I remember forgetting what I was supposed to be playing.

I remember crying.

I remember regretting that I hadn't become a musician.

I remember thinking, why not just pretend you are playing Chopin.

I remember the teacher saying, play the black keys. 

I remember playing for 3 hours.

I remember rejoicing.

I remember being ashamed.

I remember realizing I didn't need to be.