First the Piano, Then the Lessons

I’m 67 years old and am beginning piano lessons for the first time. Well, that’s 99% true. In grade school my sweet mother gave me the opportunity and encouraged me to take lessons. We had a baby grand Steinway in our living room begging for someone to play it. I took lessons from Sister Augustine. I remember her as stern and demanding.  In reality she was probably a sweet, old nun hoping for a musical genius to cross her path before she died.  I lasted two weeks.

My husband played piano (he tells me quite well) as a young person. He is a hard-driving businessman. I thought it would be salubrious for him to take it up again and I often spoke of buying a piano.  

One evening, we went to a charity dinner for the benefit of underprivileged children in Philadelphia. The mission of the charity is to expose these children to the joy and beauty of music and give them an opportunity to explore their talent. 

Andre Watts played beautifully for the audience on a piano that he autographed. Following the concert, the piano was auctioned. In order to start the bidding, I raised my hand. Perhaps it was the uncharismatic auctioneer; the condition of the economy; the poor acoustics in the room – but the bidding never got off the ground. 

Good news? I have a piano. It was delivered, tuned and took up half my living room and languished there.  My husband wasn’t interested; I was incompetent; I was hopeful that one of my 13 grandchildren would be a child prodigy. You see I dream a lot! 

In walks my son Michael one day. He has been taking guitar lessons for about two years. Our home is en route to the teacher and he often stops by. We visit and he tells me how much he is improving.  He encourages me to meet and talk with the teacher, who also teaches piano. I finally agree and he picks me up and drives me to the teacher so I can meet and talk with him. 

I have been taking lessons for four months. I look forward to every experience.  

Kay
Villanova, Pa.