I don’t remember what it was like to take my first piano lesson. From what I was told, my grandmother had me at the keyboard as soon as I could walk and put me in lessons with a friend of hers by the time I was three. Similarly, while I can remember learning to read in Kindergarten, I don’t recall when I learned how to call a quarter note, or the treble clef. Music has simply always been there for me.
Not to say it was always easy. Practicing becomes tedious at any age, and 15 minutes can seem like forever when you’re eight! On top of that, I was less than enthusiastic for many years, finally quitting when I was seventeen. What was a the point, I wondered, when there were so many people so much better than me? At that point, I had just finished my Gr. 7 piano exam with the Royal Conservatory of Canada.
Years later, I inherited a piano from my grandmother. Built between the years of 1901 and 1906, you can see its keyboard in the picture at the top of the page. It called to me, sitting there in my living room, and I tried to play it, but no longer could. I made the difficult decision at 23 to resume piano lessons–I say difficult, because boy did it challenge my pride to hear kids less than half my age playing better than me now! I had been embarrassed at 17 to play at the Gr. 7 level. Six years later, I had to return to the Gr. 3 level and re-learn what I had lost.
It was hard. A full-time job, a boyfriend, later marriage, but still I played until I passed my Gr. 9 exam, two weeks before my first child was born. I had to put my practicing mostly on holdthen, but I never quit. I never wanted to lose again what I had gained through music, or the chance to play the pieces that resonate with me. And now, finally, as I begin to work toward my Gr. 10, I can. Incredible pieces like Chopin’s Military Polonaise, or Beethoven’s Rondo in C are options, and I am eager to learn. And all because my grandmother shared her gift, and passion, with me at such a young age.