Piano Practice

The payoff: Eliza looking lovely in front of a Grand Steinway at her Spring recital

I grew up playing the piano. I remember going to my teacher's house for a lesson and then going to school. That must have been early in the morning! I'm sure my Mom didn't enjoy that. And while I don't remember throwing tantrums while practicing, I can't imagine that I am an exception to the image of the stereotypical child being forced to play an instrument that she hates, crying and hurling insults about not asking to learn the piano, or asking to be born, for that matter.

Fast forward 25 years. Eliza and Wilson learning to play the piano. I found a teacher for Eliza two years ago and we entered the hell that is piano lessons. The teacher was capable and nice enough, but Eliza rebelled like I imagined she would. On the day of her lessons she would become "sick" and would come up with fantastically imaginative reasons why she shouldn't have to go that day. All the while I'm saying, "I already paid for this lesson, so you're going." "I know you don't like it, but you have to go". Etc, etc.

Practicing at home was no better. We set the timer for 20 minutes and she would start. Any time there was a lull in playing that lasted longer than about thirty seconds I would call, "Keep going!" which would be answered either by a shrieking, "I AM!!" or by a despondent moan/cry, "I caaaaaaan't dooooooo iiiiiiiiit" My cheerful "Yes, you can!" was met with wrath.

Adding to the stress and frustration of the practice sessions was that they usually took place while I was cooking dinner. We were all hungry and tired, Zane would just be coming home from work and Wilson would be wanting me to help build a lego house. This chaos, added to the piano anger, would send us all over the edge. I would march into the living room, with a cooking spoon or a measuring cup in hand and say, "THIS NOTE, ELIZA. THIS NOTE IS MIDDLE C. You have known this for a year now!" Followed by the moan, "I haaaaate piaaaaaaanooooooo" and Zane looking at me like I am a complete lunatic for attempting this feat. He would often say, "Is this really and truly a necessary evil?" And I would yell, "Yes! Everybody needs to learn how to play the piano! Everybody needs to know what a sharp and a flat are! Maybe if you had learned to play you could sing the hymns in church!" Then he would give me the lunatic look again and leave the room.

So, after two years I decided to stop paying someone to make Eliza miserable. I couldn't stomach the idea of paying for something that I could do myself! Plus, Wilson started showing an interest in playing, and that is twice the money and twice the ulcer. I am now teaching my children myself! We can do lessons whenever the feeling strikes! Practice is much more free-form and happy! This goes against everything I believe in but it's working! Zane thinks I am even more crazy than before and simply cannot understand why I insist on perpetuating the nightmare. He is of the we-tried-it-and-it-didn't-work school of thought. I keep telling my kids that when they are missionaries in outer-wherever, and nobody else can play the piano, they will thank me. And that when they hear the words andante and con brio, and understand, they will feel smart. We do this to be better people, I say. And also, just because I said so.