Many, many, many years ago, when I was but a wee child, I
took piano lessons. I quit begged to
quit after the second summer. Not
because I disliked the piano. No, I
loved playing. It was the teacher I
hated.
Years later, when I was in high school, I decided to try
again. Sure, I’d been playing all along
and improving but it was a slow process on my own. The second set of lessons didn’t last as
long. That teacher thought I should play
better than I did. After all, my dad was
a talented local pianist all his life and that woman remembered going to dances
he performed at when she was in school so in her opinion I should be just as
capable at the age I was. Um, no. I had some natural ability but it hadn’t been
nurtured and perfected as his had been. It
was awful and she actually told me how disappointed she was. Why, I’ll never understand because if I could
have played like my dad there would have been no need for lessons.
Oh, in case you’re wondering, no, my dad never attempted to
teach me. That would have been a huge
disaster from both sides. My dad was the
most patient man in the world when it came to other people’s kids. Well, either that or he faked it well. When it came to me and things like that it
was an entirely different story. And on my
part, I would have been a very difficult student for him as I had moments when
I was resistant and outspoken. I
know. Hard to imagine but that’s how I
was.
Last year, I inherited a player piano. I’d been plunking around on it ever since,
sporadically. Going to see Barry Manilow
last week inspired me. I do know I don’t
stand a chance of ever sounding like he does since the man is one hell of a
talented musician but I decided I might just manage to play well enough for
songs to be recognizable.
Off to surf Amazon I went and yes indeed, a modified
collection of his well known songs exists.
The best part? They are
simplified enough that with a little practice even I will be able to play them
fairly decently. I sing along too. Hey, I had voice lessons for a time as well,
something I rarely admit, and I’m not nearly as bad as you’d expect. I just don’t sing in public. That’s what ended those lessons. Anyway, I’d forgotten how much fun I have
while playing and singing. So thank you,
Mr. Manilow. For entertaining me last
week and for helping me rediscover something I hadn’t realized was missing.
