Come and play with me

I took piano lessons when I was young.  I think, if memory serves me correctly, I took lessons from when I was in third grade until the eighth grade.  After the eighth grade, my family moved from Saskatchewan to British Columbia and piano became an option.  I chose to not continue.  While I took lessons, I hated to practice and the lessons themselves, well, let me tell you how I felt about the lesson by telling a quick story.  Once, in a moment of juvenile stupidity, I ran my hand down the page to smooth out the pages.  Part way down the page I realized that I was trying to smooth out the staples holding the book together.  I shredded my hand and was never happier because I had just given myself a reason to not practice and miss a lesson.  Ha!  Take that Mrs. puts-on-her-makeup-with-a-spatula-piano-teacher.

Now, my daughter is taking lessons and I’m left wishing that I’d taken my lessons more seriously.  I listened to her sight-reading pieces while playing with her Grandpa Buster this weekend and felt so proud of how well she’s playing and jealous that she’s playing so well so quickly.

Pentax K20D; Pentax M SMC 50mm; f1.7; ISO 400; 1/100 sec.

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