Bach, Beethoven, Debussy, the list goes on and on. At the tender age of 7, I thought I was stuck playing the piano for life. I was beside myself sitting on that hard brown wooden piano bench with my little white timer staring at me flashing that I had 45 minutes left to look at those eighty-eight wanna-be ivory keys. The noise that my ten tiny fingers were able to express was ethereal.

Neighbors complimented on my playing as they originally thought a tape was playing the music. This went on for 11 years. I couldn’t do anything or go anywhere with friends until my daily practice time was complete. As nearly 12 years has passed since I sat and played, I can honestly say how much I miss it. As a child I hated it, but I loved it. Recently, a friend acquired a piano. Luckily, it wasn’t too foreign to me. I sat and played. Although it was choppy at the beginning, I was still able to read sheet music.

To be honest, I don’t even recall being given permission by my parents to quit. I just know I was 18, in high school, on the honor roll, had a part time job, and played sports. I guess there was too much going on to include another activity in my hectic schedule.

Surprisingly, I couldn’t find any pictures of me playing my piano, but I did find this one of me goofing around on a mini keyboard.