Musical Regrets

When I think about growing up, I remember my father a quiet pensive man. He played the piano daily--for as long as I could remember. Songs like "Moon River"--from Breakfast at Tiffany's and old Sinatra favorites fill our living room. He still plays the piano on a daily basis.

The piano use to intimidate me. My father, naturally talented, played by ear. You could hum a tune and in a few minutes, he could plink it out on it's keyboards. He hired a teacher to come to our home and teach my brother, sister and I how to create our own music. We were too busy. We had our friends, we had other activities. There were fireflies to be caught, rather than practice scales. There were make-believe dragons for me to catch and slam-dunks for my atheletically inclined brother. My sister was scared stiff of our strict maestro, who could hear the slightest difference in the timing of a staccato.

After about eight years of lessons for us, our maestro went on to record some gospel music and dedicated her life to singing in a church choir. The only reason the piano didn't gather dust was because my father continued to play with the keys.

Now his grandchildren surround the piano bench. They climb eagerly into his lap to help him find the right keys. Each grandchild, five in all, have pictures with him on the piano. He smiles eagerly at each one, hoping that one of them will learn to appreciate it's fine art.

P.S. My siblings and I talk everyday about the lessons we didn't take advantage of. And everyday, my father reminds us that it's never too late.
P.S.S. We also had violin lessons which we also neglected.
P.S.S.S. My father can play the piano, violin, and saxaphone all by ear. Every party he attends, someone always enourages him to show off his talent.