Flashnano25 Day 8: Happy World Pianist Day except to you, Mrs. VG

 Flashnano25 

Day 8

Prompt: Write a story about one of these (choose from list of events celebrated on 11/8).

Happy World Pianist Day, except to you, Mrs. VG. 

Your stern voice, harsh words, and corporal punishment changed me forever.  

I was in eighth grade when we met, my seventh year as a piano student at St. Gabriel’s School of Music. Up until that year, all my piano teachers were nuns. They were kind, caring, and encouraged me. 

Once a year, gentlemen from Catholic University in Washington, DC would make special trips to our school and listen to us play. I was always praised. They marveled at my talent, my work ethic, my dedication. They wrote letters to my family that I had potential. That if I kept at my current pace, I’d likely be in line for some college scholarships. 

At our annual school recital, I received ovations. My parents were so proud. I was so happy. 

Then came you, Mrs. VG. You yelled at me if I slouched. You insulted the way I looked and talked. You sat next to me on the piano bench. And you hit the backs of my hands with a ruler every time I made a mistake. Every. Time. 

Funny how things work. The more you hit me, the more mistakes I made. 

I begged my parents to send me to a different piano school. Told them the teacher was mean. They refused, because my school was THE school for piano in the area. I was lucky to be there, they said. 

The Catholic University performance that year was a disaster. 

The annual school recital? Still to this day my face heats up thinking about it. I got on stage, and everyone was expecting I’d be one of the best. But I couldn’t play. My fingers, once trusty and strong, started trembling, then shaking uncontrollably. I played maybe three measures perfectly, then lost complete control of my arms. I kept stopping. Starting. Stopping. Restarting. When I finished, no one clapped. I ran off the stage in tears. 

My parents relented after that. The next year I started at a new piano school. The teacher was a former jazz performer who taught me chords so I could play popular music. I still learned some classical stuff, but in comparison to Mrs. VG, the pace was super chill. 

I never played in public again. The experience that year with Mrs. VG destroyed something deep inside. Even now, if I try to play with people around, I freeze up and start shaking. 

A few years ago, my mother and I were talking about my old piano lessons. I told her how Mrs. VG used to hit me. 

My mother, a talented, classically trained pianist, got upset. 

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

I shrugged. “Back then I didn’t know any better. I thought what she was doing was normal. I thought I was the one with the problem.” 

As an adult, I now know better.

When my youngest daughter was in second grade, like me she decided she wanted to learn to play the piano. Given my past, I made sure that her teachers were warm, kind, encouraging. Like a sponge, my daughter soaked up everything.  By the end of her first year, she was already playing complex pieces. Starting in high school, she regularly performed for crowds, playing the accompaniment in local stage productions. A bit of a savant, she majored in Mathematics and its artsy equivalent --  Piano Music, in college. 

And time moves on. My grandson recently started taking piano lessons. He’s obsessed. He draws his own staffs and creates his own compositions. He comes to my house and plays his songs. One of his songs is about a spider. It’s eight measures long. I’ve heard it now maybe sixty times. I’m sure I’ll hear it another sixty more. 

Sometimes he sings along and I join him, but only for a few minutes because he says I tend to sing offkey and he tells me to stop, which I do. He’s got a delicate ear. For him as was true for my daughter, bad singing is literally painful. I have no desire to inflict any pain on this kiddo. 

 His tiny hands are soft and delicate and still getting used to piano keys.  Sometimes his fingers trip and that’s more than okay. Me, his parents, his teacher, we all praise him for trying and learning new things. Mistakes are just fine. 

I think now about people like Mrs. VG who never learned that mistakes are part of trying. That mistakes can be a GOOD thing. She must have had a miserable life.