If you could go back in time and give someone a big ugly middle finger, who would it be, and why? If you could go back and have a conversation, knowing what you know now that you are older and wiser, what would you say?
I have always wanted to learn music. As a little kid I begged for music lessons and was told I wasn’t big enough. My older brother and sister took lessons; my sister practiced for hours and hours every day, and my brother goofed off. My sister went on to be a professional musician and my brother went on to be a professional goof-off. By the time I was old enough, mom and dad were over the whole “kid music lesson” thing.
I kept pestering, though, and had a few short stints with various local teachers. All of them were cranky old ladies who would yell at me until I cried, or grab my hand and bend the fingers back so hard they hurt for days afterward. I was asked as a beginning beginner to sight read from church hymnals, and given 15 songs to learn and yelled at for not having all of them perfect in a week. At home, I was yelled at for hitting a wrong note, the piano was in the same room as the television, and I couldn’t play when anyone else was in the house. Which was pretty much always and never.
In college, I took a couple of music classes. The teachers were stressed out grad students who threw us to our own devices and begged us to work because their grades depended on our recital for the music faculty. We had a theory book, a book of classical pieces and Hanon exercises. The best part of music at college was practicing at the grand piano in the dorm lobby. People would come and sit just to listen. I played popular music and show tunes, baby! Not the Hanon or theory book exercises, so it wasn’t really class practice. Oops. Playing music when people enjoy it is fun. The practice rooms in the music building were claustrophobic, filthy (they literally stunk) and dark. I went there once and never went back. There were creepy stories about them, also, too.
Why this particular diary, and why now? I have muddled around music for a lot of years, and now that retirement has happened, I have the time. I signed up with a real music studio and bought some real structured music books. Today, I went down the rabbit hole of YouTube music teachers, and emerged hours later with a sincere desire to go back and slap — er — talk to some of those cranky old teachers I remember. I strongly suspect that they weren’t really teachers at all, but a convenient place for Mom to drop me off for an afternoon once a week. Anybody who could plunk out Amazing Grace at church could teach a kid to play the piano, right? I’m not even sure mom paid for the “lessons.” Delete that thought, no I don’t. I would flip them an angry middle finger and slam the door on my way out. Shall I see how far back HER fingers will bend before she cries? Ugh.
Anyway, looking forward, the first recital is scheduled in about six weeks. I have not committed to it. Right now, I am motivated to learn a lifetime of music theory before I move on to sight reading and performance pieces. My teacher will have a couple dozen kids performing and none of their parents are interested in hearing an old fart playing beginner stuff. Give me a year or so and I’ll hit ‘em with the ol’ razzle dazzle. I want the audience reaction I had back in the dorm lobby so long ago. I have time to decide and don’t have to prove anything to anybody. I will go and play for people again when I can do this one:
It’s my piano, my house and my time. Booyah! Seriously, about that question in the lede, what would you go back and tell somebody in the past, knowing what you know now? Or would you?