Essay #28: Piano

Clara's been asking for weeks to learn piano. I've been hesitant, mostly because it went so poorly when I tried to teach Amelia a few years ago. We carried along for several months, but she became frustrated once the pieces got slightly challenging, and soon our lessons turned into her screaming and refusing to play. Now she remembers only one song, the plodding "Cowboy Joe," which she plays at far-too-regular intervals.

I've taught seven of the neighborhood kids, so I'm reasonably confident in my ability to teach (even if none of my former students still play). I played for most of my childhood and also taught younger students when I was a senior in high school. Still, my own relationship with the piano has been uneven. I started playing young, but I hated the teacher I had through elementary school, and I became lazy, refusing to improve with the excuse of disliking him. I quit for a few years and then picked it up in high school, but my new teacher had reasonably high expectations that I wasn't prepared to meet. My former teacher hadn't held me to account on accurately playing the beat, and so I'd mostly ignore it. I eventually quit on my new teacher too, but I restarted with my boyfriend's teacher during my senior year of high school. She was honestly a good fit--not too exacting, but not too lenient, and I eventually taught some of her youngest students--but my graduation was the end of my piano career.

Soon it became embarrassing to tell other people that I had played piano for most of my childhood. I wasn't any good, particularly given the number of years I had devoted. I couldn't name any great composers or pianists. I could sight-read basic music, but I didn't even know how to count out the beat for more complex pieces.

Once we moved to Cincinnati, my parents had my childhood piano sent down, and it resides in my office. I still have vague memories of choosing the piano at the store alongside one of my first piano teachers. I've thought about trying to learn again as an adult, and I find some pleasure in picking out a song, but I don't think I'll ever really return.

Nonetheless, I hope both girls will play. So, today, I reluctantly agreed to give Clara her first lesson. She was eager and attentive, listening carefully to my instructions. By the end of the thirty minutes, she could play "In the Jungle," an easy three-finger piece. 

I don't know if her enthusiasm will last. Maybe she'll end up in the same place as Amelia within a few weeks. But it was a good thirty minutes. I got to appreciate my thirty-year-old piano again. I got to appreciate Clara, who can wear me down with her "Mommy, will you...", again.