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ATLANTIC HIGHLANDS HERALD |
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THE PIANIST “I can’t eat, Mom. I’m nervous,” Miranda told me at 8 a.m. the morning of her first piano recital. Her piano teacher told her to expect that feeling, that it’s natural to feel nervous, but, well, Miranda was surprised that she felt butterflies in her stomach. I reminded her that the recital wasn’t until 1 p.m., so she had plenty of time to sit and relax and eat breakfast, but my preteen just sighed and headed to the piano to practice. I found myself humming the tune that she practiced over and over again as I rinsed the breakfast dishes and stacked them into the dishwasher. I heard Dave humming the same melody as he prepared the kitchen garbage for the garage. When one has a budding pianist in the family, the music is contagious. Two years ago Miranda started to learn the keyboard, and with a patient, caring teacher that truly motivated her, she excelled. Our New Jersey home was too small for a piano, but that is what Miranda really wanted more than anything else in the world. Perhaps it was divine intervention when we discovered rather abruptly that we were going to have to move south where housing prices were so affordable that we would have plenty of room for a piano. Within the first four weeks of living in Texas, we had a shiny mahogany upright piano in our living room. Miranda’s dream came true, and she has been taking excellent care of her expensive ‘toy’ that only she knows how to play. We found a wonderful, experienced piano teacher who enthusiastically shares her passion for the piano, and Miranda continues weekly to learn her instrument. Every Tuesday night Miranda gets her black piano music bag filled with sheet music and lesson books, slings it over her shoulder, and heads out to the car where she and I have some quiet ‘alone’ time, just the two of us, going to and from the piano teacher’s house. During the thirty-minute lesson, I read a magazine, listen to the music, and relax. Afterward, Miranda and I head to McDonald’s for shakes, she a strawberry, and me a chocolate. We love our piano nights. Now able to play with two hands and use the pedal, Miranda sounds like a real pianist. And today was her debut. After registering and surrendering her piano music, Miranda, Dave, Lucy, and I headed to the recital room. There in the front of the well-lit room was the piano. I reached for Miranda’s hand and felt ice. My girl was nervous. I put my arm around her shoulder and said, “You’ll do fine! Don’t worry!” She looked at me and smiled a weak smile. I’m sure she was wondering how she got herself into something like this, but I knew this was one more step toward her maturity. My little girl was growing up. When her name was called, Miranda rose and moved to the left side of the room where the other participants assembled together in the order of their performances. Then the recital began. I looked around and saw other family members smiling, thinking the same thought I was: “Please, God, let my daughter (or son) have a wonderful experience!” In my heart, I just wanted Miranda to be proud of herself, to feel good up on the stage in front of the audience, to play with all that passion she has in her body and soul. And that’s just what happened. When Miranda’s name was called to go to the piano, she stood with confidence and moved toward the bench. She adjusted her seating and placed her fingers on the keyboard. She looked down to make sure her foot was on the right pedal. “You may begin when you’re ready,” the judge said. Then she played. Beautiful music flowed from my daughter’s fingertips through the body of the piano. I heard this song a thousand times—knew all the right chords and all the little mistakes that previously made Miranda say “oops!” and begin again. Her teacher told her to just go forward with the piece as if she hadn’t made a mistake if she did err, but I knew how difficult that would be for my perfectionist daughter. Yet she did. She hit a wrong note, but she didn’t stop. She kept going. With only a few minor flaws in her performance, Miranda ended her song and folded her hands in her lap. The audience applauded, and Miranda stood, shyly smiled, and returned to her seat. Out of ten performers in the recital, all approximately the same age or a little older than Miranda, only three had flawless performances. However, Miranda didn’t care that she was in the majority. She heard her mistakes and she was angry with herself for making them. “I practiced and practiced! I can’t believe how badly I did!” she said to me the moment the recital was over and we reunited. We met Dave and Lucy out in the hallway—music just makes Lucy want to sing and dance, even though a recital is not that type of venue… “You did very well!” I told Miranda, hugging her. “I was so proud of you!” “You did great, kiddo!” Dave said when he saw her. “We heard you from the back.” “No, I didn’t,” Miranda said, tears misting her eyes. “I made so many mistakes!” I took it upon myself, as we were walking down the hallway toward the judges’ awards table, to tell my daughter that nothing is ever ‘perfect.’ “You can only do your best,” I said, “and today this was your best.” I wanted her to realize that life is a serious of moments, not one performance that either makes you or breaks you. I wanted Miranda to love playing piano for the sheer love of playing piano. Too many things in life get complicated. This, her passion, should be pure. The judges awarded Miranda what was considered “2 nd place,” and she received a certificate and a ribbon for her performance. She wasn’t the best and she wasn’t the worst…she fell into the middle. Her piano teacher came by to talk to her about her playing; together they read the judge’s critique. “You did great!” she told her pupil, smiling. Miranda smiled back. She was quiet in the car as we drove home. She was deep in thought. After dropping Lucy and Dave at our house, Miranda and I headed to the retirement home nearby where Miranda is a new volunteer. She wasn’t in the mood, I knew, but, still, we made a commitment with the activities director that she would play piano for the residents. Once there, Miranda, a bit deflated, walked with me in silence into the lobby. This was her first performance for the residents. She was surprised to see five people waiting for her in the piano parlor! “We heard you were coming, and we wanted to get good seats!” one lady said to Miranda. That made her smile. She took her seat at the piano bench and began to play. I sat nearby and watched my daughter, so young and headstrong, play beautiful music. More people entered the room to hear her play. After each song, there was applause. Miranda smiled. After I announced the next song’s title, Miranda began to play once more. She was delighted when an elderly man started to sing a song she was playing. She had never heard of it, but he had, and for the first time I think she realized the power and the magic she has at her fingertips. When her concerto was over, the audience clapped and cheered. The activities director came over and gave Miranda a big hug, thanking her for taking time out of her weekend to play in their parlor. We told everyone we would be back in a couple of weeks, and they seemed glad. As we were leaving, a white-haired gentleman stood and told Miranda, “Thanks. You really play beautifully!” At the car, Miranda said, “Mom, they were so nice! Did you see some of the men and women tapping their feet while I played? Did you hear that man singing? I think they really liked the music…” She continued talking all the way home. And all the way home I smiled, thinking, “she ‘gets’ it.” My daughter was realizing the power of meaningful life moments. And a pianist was born…
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