Word Picture

On a cool, brisk Sunday evening, I sit draped at the piano bench, humming along to Clair De Lune while my Grandma mirrors my humming on the keys. A piano teacher for 40 years, she knew every piece front and back, and I was in awe. How any being could be in complete control of 88 ivory keys, all with a unique sound, was mesmerizing for me. I had previously said no to the opportunity of playing piano and learning from my Grandma. My sister was currently taking lessons from her and enjoying the experience, but as my manly 7-year-old self thought, “She’s a girl, of course she likes music.” I had told my parents that I was too invested in playing with my monster trucks and watching SpongeBob Squarepants. Although in reality, the sound and vibration from the wooden monstrosity had me in a euphoric state which is something that doesn’t come often or easy to a seven year old misfit. I wanted to learn so badly. I thought to myself, “How am I gonna live this one down?” Telling my family the truth would be a complete 180 from my previous stance. After building up the courage, I had to later admit to my family that I was a true phony for the last 3 years. Although it wasn’t a pleasant experience, it made the next 11 years of my life about 23% better. Also, I would come to learn that for other kids, piano lessons were really, really not free.