I Gave My Daughter My Father’s Violin For Her Graduation, She Called It “Shabby,” So I Sold It…

The Graduation Gift and the Rejection

I gave my daughter my father’s violin for her music school graduation. She called it shabby and embarrassing.

Two weeks later, I sold it to a private collector for $120,000. When she found out, she threatened to sue me.

My name is Thomas. I’m 65 years old and I’ve lived in Toronto my entire life.

I taught music at Rosedale Secondary School for 37 years before I retired. My father was a violinist, not famous but talented.

He played in small concert halls across Ontario during the 20s and 30s. Back when live music was how people spent their Saturday evenings, he taught me to play when I was 7 years old.

That violin was always in our home, resting in its worn leather case by the window. The afternoon light would catch the grain of the wood.

When my father passed away in 1983, he left me that violin. It was a Gagliano made in Naples in 1922.

He’d saved for 2 years to buy it from an estate sale in Montreal. The case was scuffed and the finish had dulled over decades of use.

But when you drew the bow across those strings, the sound that came out was like honey and heartbreak mixed together.

I played it every Sunday morning for 40 years. My wife used to make coffee and sit in the kitchen listening while I worked through Bach or Vivaldi or sometimes just improvised.

My daughter Rebecca never had much interest in music. She took piano lessons because I insisted, but she quit at 14 and said she had better things to do.

She was always ambitious, always focused on what would look good on a university application or a resume. She went to law school and became a corporate lawyer at one of the big firms downtown.

She worked 80-hour weeks and drove a BMW. She lived in a condo on King Street West with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

She married a man named Derek, an investment banker. They had a daughter, my granddaughter Emma.

Emma is 8 years old now. She has her mother’s determination but something else too, something softer.

She started violin lessons last year. Her teacher said she had natural talent.

When Emma played, even though she was just learning and half the notes came out scratchy and uncertain, I could see my father in her.

I saw it in the way she held the instrument and the way she closed her eyes and listened.

Rebecca decided 3 years ago that she wanted to go back to school. Not law school, but music school.

She said she’d had an epiphany. She realized she’d been chasing the wrong things.

She enrolled part-time at the Royal Conservatory of Music. She was studying music theory and composition.

I was surprised and proud even. I thought maybe she was finally understanding what I’d tried to teach her all those years ago.

Her graduation was set for November 5th. She’d completed a 2-year certificate program.

She called me in October and asked if I’d come to the ceremony. Of course I said yes.

I hadn’t seen her much in the previous months. She was always busy, always had meetings or deadlines or something that kept her from visiting.

I decided to give her my father’s violin as a graduation gift. It seemed right.

She was graduating from music school. She was finally connecting with something that had defined three generations of our family.

The violin belonged with her now. I had it professionally cleaned.

I bought a new case because the old one was falling apart. I had the bow rehaired.

It cost me $800, but I wanted it to be perfect. The graduation ceremony was held at Koerner Hall.

It is a beautiful venue with red brick and glass. It has those incredible wooden acoustic panels that line the walls.

I sat in the audience with my wife Margaret. We watched Rebecca walk across the stage in her black gown.

She looked happy, genuinely happy. After the ceremony, there was a reception in the lobby.

There was champagne and small sandwiches and clusters of people congratulating each other. I found Rebecca standing with Derek and a group of her classmates.

I was carrying the violin case. My hands were shaking a little.

I’d been holding on to this violin for 42 years. It was the last thing I had that my father had touched regularly, but I knew it was time.

I walked up to her and waited for a break in the conversation. “Rebecca,” I said. “I have something for you.”

She turned and smiled. “Dad, you made it.”

“Of course I made it.” I held out the case. “This is for you, for your graduation.”

She took the case, set it on a nearby table, and opened it. I watched her face.

I expected surprise, maybe emotion, or maybe recognition of what this meant. Instead, she looked at the violin for about 5 seconds.

Then she looked at me. “What is this?”

“It’s your grandfather’s violin,” I said. “The one he played his whole life and the one I’ve played for the last 40 years.”

“I thought now that you’ve graduated and are pursuing music, it should be yours.” She picked up the violin, examined it, and turned it over.

She put it back in the case. “Dad, this is really sweet, but I can’t use this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean look at it. It’s old and the varnish is all worn down. The case is nice, but the instrument itself looks shabby.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest. “That violin is a Gagliano. It’s from 1922 and your grandfather saved for 2 years to buy it.”

“I know the history, Dad, but I’m starting to perform now. I can’t walk on stage with something that looks like it came from a garage sale. It’s embarrassing.”

Derek stepped closer and glanced at the violin. “Babe, maybe your dad’s right. It might be valuable.”

“It’s 90 years old,” Rebecca said. “The wood is probably warped. I need something modern, something that sounds good and looks professional.”

I didn’t know what to say. I stood there holding my champagne glass.

Margaret put her hand on my arm. Rebecca was already closing the case.

She handed it back to me. “I appreciate the gesture,” she said. “But really, I can’t use it. Maybe you should keep it or give it to Emma when she’s older.”

One of her classmates said something and Rebecca turned away. She was laughing.

I stood there holding the case. Margaret leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go home.”