Memory is a funny thing. The way I remember it I stormed into the kitchen, hands on hips, looked up at my mother and said “I quit.”
Mom said “Go ahead and quit you’ll regret it when you’re old.”
As always Mom was right. Now at 42 this old dog is learning a new trick. Piano. I’ve only had a couple of lessons but I love it. My brain is enjoying doing something new and the piano that was in storage, collecting dust for years, is being used and appreciated.
Why did I quit in the first place? My piano teacher would rubber band my fingers together to get me to stretch them more. Have you seen my hands? I have long thin fingers, perfect for piano. I was just a kid. I was supposed to have hands that matched my body!
I also seem to remember that I couldn’t read music but could play by tone, so in an effort to teach me to read music she would not play for me. Again, this is just how I remember it.
I’ll have to ask my Mom if she remembers this at all. My quitting piano as a child might not fall under “important memories” for her.
I shared my fears of the rubber bands to my new Piano teacher. She assured my there
would be no torture. She is funny, patient and doesn’t mind going over things if I don’t comprehend them the first time. I no longer have trouble asking for help so if I need her to repeat something, I simply ask. This way I leave with a clear understanding of what to practice.
