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.