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Four Strings Were Enough My wife, Beth, and I once took a group trip to Hawaii back when I was still an on-air radio broadcaster. Over the course of the tour, we hopped between islands and found ourselves immersed in Hawaiian culture, cuisine, music, and the easy rhythm of island life. On Oʻahu, we wandered into a ukulele shop. It was one of those places that pulls you in, walls lined with ukes of all sizes. These were more than the Tiny Tim-sized ukes, but instruments that actually felt right in my hands. I’d found the guitar intimidating with its six strings and finger gymnastics, so picking up the four-stringed uke seemed manageable. I fell in love with the rich, warm, and inviting sound. On one wall of the shop was a sign that caught my eye immediately: Free Ukulele Lessons every Tuesday. What luck! The next day was Tuesday, and we weren’t heading to the next island until Wednesday. Well, somewhere between sightseeing in Honolulu and settling comfortably into island time, I forgot all about those free lessons. We looked for another ukulele shop through the rest of the trip, but came up empty, and I didn’t make a purchase. My dreams of strumming The Little Grass Shack or Tiptoe Through the Tulips would have to wait. A few years later, when Christmas arrived, one of the presents under the tree was from Beth—a beautiful tenor ukulele. Within a few hours, I had learned a handful of chords and could strum a tune or two. My daughters, Sylvia and Zoe, picked it up almost instantly and were better than me in a fraction of the time. That turned out to be all the motivation I needed. I started picking it up often. I even took it with me when I traveled so I could practice in hotel rooms in the evening. More than once, I found myself telling people I wished I’d discovered the ukulele years earlier. It was relaxing, unpretentious, and beautiful. Music is meant to be enjoyed, not conquered. Of course, once you own an instrument, you have to name it. The first time I flew with my ukulele, the overhead speakers were playing a song by Adele as we boarded. Somewhere between stowing my bag and finding my seat, the name came to me. Since it was a Delta flight, I decided her name should be Delta Adele. I usually call her Adele, though her full name is Delta Adele. Adele traveled with us on business trips and vacations alike. One of those trips was to Key West, Florida. Known for Ernest Hemingway, six-toed cats, key lime pie, and sunsets that stop people in their tracks, Key West has a rhythm similar to an island. Each evening, crowds gather at Mallory Square to watch the sun drop into the water while street performers play music, juggle, and entertain. I briefly entertained the idea of opening Adele’s case, tossing a few dollars inside, and playing along. It turns out you need a busking license in Key West, and even then, there’s a lottery for spots. So much for that plan. When it came time to head home, Beth and I found ourselves waiting for a flight at the Key West airport. With time to spare and a crowd fresh off a tropical getaway, I thought it might be fun to pull Adele out and strum a bit. After all, no license was required this time. “I feel the need to uke,” I said. Beth didn’t miss a beat. “If you feel like you need to, go ahead,” she said. “But I’m sitting over there, and I don’t know you.” I didn’t play—but I seriously thought about it. So Adele stayed in her case that day in Key West. And that was okay. I didn’t need spare change or applause or a sunset crowd to prove anything. I had four strings, a few chords, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing I’d finally found something I wished I’d found years earlier. It turns out sometimes just carrying the music with you is enough. Tom Brand writes A Little Bit Like Home, a weekly column about family, faith, and discovering that four strings are less intimidating than six. He’s living proof it’s never too late to pick up a new hobby—or put it back in its case. Find more at ALittleBitLikeHome.com.