About ten years ago, I used to take part in piano lessons. Once or twice a week, my mom, brother, and I would travel to Glennallen to meet with my piano teacher who possessed a shy, fluffy black cat. As a kid I was not very interested in piano, and I honestly don’t remember why I was taking it. Nevertheless, early on, my piano teacher warned me about getting to close to her cat. Unfortunately, I was curious, especially when it came to animals. I slowly approached the cat that was under the kitchen table on a chair at the moment. Mesmerized by the wide golden spheres staring straight at me, I moved closer. Two seconds later, I was stealthily running to the bathroom, hoping to hide there. I shut the door behind me and immediately rushed to the mirror.
When I got to close to the cat, he threw his paw at me and, with claws outstretched, slit my eyelid right up the center. My mom, suspicious as to why I was so silent, found me in the bathroom and knew pretty much right away what had happened. I was then taken to Crossroads where I was strapped to a table with only my eye showing. The doctors numbed my eye with a small syringe, which proved to be very painful, and proceeded to give me the one and only stitch that I would ever receive. This experience is what I believe to be at the core of my irrational fear of needles, and maybe it’s why I haven’t taken an interest in music.
When I got to close to the cat, he threw his paw at me and, with claws outstretched, slit my eyelid right up the center. My mom, suspicious as to why I was so silent, found me in the bathroom and knew pretty much right away what had happened. I was then taken to Crossroads where I was strapped to a table with only my eye showing. The doctors numbed my eye with a small syringe, which proved to be very painful, and proceeded to give me the one and only stitch that I would ever receive. This experience is what I believe to be at the core of my irrational fear of needles, and maybe it’s why I haven’t taken an interest in music.
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