In American schools, they learn the violin like they read books.

After transferring to a school in the U.S., a classmate I was starting to get along with asked if I wanted to take violin lessons together. "Violin?" I had taken violin lessons before, so I was intrigued.

"When?" I asked. "Right now," they replied. "Huh!? But it's class time, right? Where?" I asked. "The cafeteria," came the answer. Apparently, during this time, anyone wanting to learn violin, viola, or cello could get lessons in the cafeteria. I see. I decided to head to the cafeteria with them.

Then, more than half my class and kids from other classes gathered and started playing violins and such. To my surprise, there were even troublemakers and football players there. "Huh? Why are they here?" I couldn't hide my shock. Back when I studied violin in Russia, classical music had this very formal, exclusive air about it – it wasn't something just anyone learned. That's why playing the violin gave me this mysterious sense of superiority.

But here, that atmosphere was completely absent. Everyone was practicing in the cafeteria, instruments in hand. What's more, everyone's skill level varied wildly, and a significant number were practicing different pieces altogether.

While I was pondering this, the teacher came over to me. I'd expected a lecture on musical basics or famous composers, but my expectations were dashed. The teacher simply handed me a violin and sheet music, said, "Now, go practice," and left.

"Huh!?" I was bewildered. The teacher came back and said, "Music is very similar to reading aloud. You read the written words and use an instrument instead of your voice to make the sounds. If you can read sheet music, anyone can play an instrument. Go ahead, read the sheet music."

Looking at the sheet music, I saw the pitches written in letters, not solfège. I was momentarily confused, but even without musical knowledge, this was something anyone could understand immediately. It was indeed easy to grasp. All that was left was to translate it into the instrument's sound. I placed my fingers where the stickers were on the instrument. It really felt just like reading a book. Suddenly, it didn't seem like something special; it felt like something anyone could do. What had been that high barrier before?

Later, when I asked for details, I learned this class was called "Strings," and any child interested in string instruments could join. The school lends the instruments, and it costs nothing. Since it's during class time, no special scheduling is needed. You practice simple songs, and once you can play them, the teacher gives you a sticker. Then you get sheet music for the next level of difficulty and practice that song. It felt very new. I joined the Strings members too.

This sticker collection continued until around spring. Just as I managed to collect five or six stickers, I learned there would be a recital. We were given ribbons to wear on our chests, where we could attach the stickers we collected.

On the day, when I went to the concert hall, there were lots of kids from other schools too. The total number easily exceeded 100. And wouldn't you know it, everyone was wearing the same ribbon with stickers pinned to their chest. The system was that everyone lined up on the hall stage according to the number of stickers they had, and we all played together.

The number of stickers signaled how many pieces you'd play. So, with six stickers, you'd play up to the sixth piece, then stand by with your violin. As the pieces got harder, fewer players were needed, meaning more time in the spotlight. You got to stay on stage longer and receive applause right until the end. This became the motivation for next year's practice.

They never taught us music trivia or past greats until the very end (though we did sometimes look up who Mozart was ourselves). From the top students to the rowdy troublemakers, everyone simply enjoyed playing the violin, viola, or cello.

You won't understand the joy of music unless you play. You won't know if you might have that talent either. Using playing as the entry point, they brilliantly teach many children the depth of classical music. And they encounter a whole new world.

This method might not be the best for cultivating top-tier artists. But why do most people engage with the arts in the first place? This question might apply not just to the arts, but to all fields of study. If so, how should adults draw children into their respective worlds? It's a profoundly thought-provoking question.