To those that have taken the time to learn and carry with them years of practicing piano… it almost feels like a superpower. A gift you’ve been given. A gift that keeps on giving. The musical version of teaching a man to fish.
Did your parents ever say “You’ll be grateful someday!” when trying to get you to do something you did not want to do?
I heard this over and over again in my youth. Particularly when it came to practicing piano.
Growing up, we had the wonderful blessing of a full grand piano in our home. We kept it tuned and clean, and with 8 kids in the family, it seemed like it was constantly being played. Everyone in my family took piano lessons. Everyone. We honestly had no choice in the matter. It was part of life.
I cycled through many different piano teachers, each of them with their own unique teaching style.
My first piano teacher was a middle aged man that would come to our house and have 30 minute lessons with each kid. My 4 older siblings would go first, and me being 5-6 years old, would go last. The entire process would take 2 1/2 hours. I was quite young, but I do remember that his teaching style was very passive. Or maybe he was just tired after 2 hours of my older siblings hammering wrong notes while the echos of other kids screaming elsewhere in the house reverberated into his brain (sometimes he would wear ear plugs… haha). He would place my music book in front of me on the piano, then sit back in a chair, his glasses poised on the end of his nose, and read a book. As I played the notes in front of me, any time I fumbled or hit a wrong note, I would hear from behind me a soft, monotone voice quietly mumble “whoops,” eyes still fixed to his book, glasses still perched on his nose. There was no movement, no further comments or words to elaborate, and I was left to figure out what I messed up on and try again. “Whoops,” again. “Whoops,” over and over as I stumbled through my music. He was a professional pianist himself and I’m sure a wonderful teacher, but at the time I did not think so.
My family later moved to Alaska and I filtered through several piano teachers over the years. As good as the teachers were, and as much as I enjoyed goofing off on the piano with my siblings at home, and especially as I got to my pre-teen years, I absolutely HATED piano lessons. I dreaded going. I hated learning technique and music theory. I hated the feeling of knowing I hadn’t practiced what I was supposed to last week, and I had to pretend or lie that I had. I’m sure they just rolled their eyes while I unconvincingly professed my diligence in practicing the correct fingering and dynamics of my assigned songs.
I wanted to quit.
Quitting piano in my family was not an option. “Stick to it,” my parents would say. “You’ll be grateful someday!”
“No I won’t!” I would respond. “I hate piano!” This was an obvious lie as I very much enjoyed playing piano. I just didn’t like LESSONS!
One piano teacher I had got so fed up with me not practicing, she refused to teach me anymore. She told my mom that every week I would show up to play the same assigned songs and make the same mistakes and concluded I was obviously not practicing. Now my parents were very diligent in making sure their children accomplished all of their tasks on a daily basis: chores, dishes, homework, making our bed, and of course, 30 minutes of practicing piano. Each kid. Each day. Like I said, the piano was constantly being played in our home. So when this particular piano teacher kept explaining to my parents that I obviously wasn’t practicing, after further investigation they learned that the mere sound of piano in the background at home didn’t necessarily mean I was practicing the assigned music given to me. They learned I was spending most of my piano practice time making up tunes and playing songs I liked by ear. Things didn’t improve and she refused to teach me anymore. And I don’t blame her, I was not a good student.
However, I remember towards the beginning of my senior year having an “Aha!” moment. By this time, despite my best efforts, I had become fairly accomplished on the piano. Not just in the assigned music I was forced to memorize in my lessons, but also at my ability to sight read, play songs by ear, and make up songs on the spot. One day at school I was sitting at the piano in the choir room during lunchtime playing around on the piano. At one point I looked up and there were about 10 girls gathered around me, listening, smiling, and singing along to whatever I was playing. In my teenage girl-driven brain, I very much liked this situation. What I probably lacked in looks and charm with the ladies, I seemed to be making up for in musical abilities.
Abilities that would not be there without more than a decade of dreaded, awful, annoying, frustrating… wonderful piano lessons.
I found myself saying in my mind “thank you mom and dad!”
I hated to admit it, but turns out they were right. I WAS grateful for piano lessons. All the googley eyes that surrounded me in that choir room were proof of that!
I still managed to get out of piano lessons when my parents decided that the only way I could quit lessons was to teach piano to others. I happily did. I had 3-4 beginning students who would come over to our house and I’d “teach” them (I had no idea what I was doing). But it got me out of having to go to lessons myself, so I was perfectly happy with this arrangement (And I didn’t mind the money!)
I don’t consider myself an accomplished piano teacher, but I have taught several times, mostly to kids. It’s interesting being on the other side of the piano, per se. The frustration of teaching kids that don’t want to be there, or don’t practice and as a result, don’t improve. Who’dathunk. I knew some of these kids were begging their parents to quit. Of course, I could relate. Some of the parents did let their kids quit.
Every person I’ve ever met that quit piano lessons as a kid regrets it. Without question. They wish they’d have stuck it out. They wish their parents had pushed them a little harder, maybe forced them a little longer. They look back at the piano as a valuable skill they could have learned and used throughout their life. But they didn’t. And picking it up again as an adult just isn’t the same. Not to discourage anyone from doing that, but it’s much easier to learn piano as a kid (and it’s free!).
Someone recently posted this, and I really liked it:
“Music is science.
Music is mathematical.
Music is foreign language.
Music is history.
Music is physical education.
Music develops insight and demands research.
Music is all these things, but most of all, music is art.
That is why we teach music. Not because we expect you to major in music. Not because we expect you to play or sing all your life. But so you will be human. So you will recognize beauty. So you will be closer to an infinite beyond this world. So you will have something to cling to. So you will have more love, more compassion, more gentleness, more good. In short, more LIFE.”
And in my opinion, the quickest and best way to experience music is through the piano. Not just to listen and have a love for music, but to know and understand how that music came to be. The piano is the foundation for all things musical. If you can play the piano, you can pick up any instrument and learn it. You can learn to sing. You can learn rhythm. You can gain a greater appreciation for music.
And eventually you can create. You can make up something that’s never existed before. There are 88 keys on the piano and infinite ways to play them. Infinite rhythms, notes, tempos, chords, combinations and melodies to compose. The piano is an extension of feelings. Like a dancer expressing outwardly what they feel inwardly with movement, the piano expresses innermost feelings and thoughts outwardly through the fingers to the ivory keys banging hammers on strings. The result is original, powerful, authentic music, that can be shared, felt, and connected with anyone who listens. You can’t listen to someone play the piano and NOT feel something.
I remember those girls surrounding me at the piano in the choir room asking me afterwards how I was able to play by ear, or make up songs on the spot like that. I had a hard time explaining because for me it was simple. Just variations of basic I, IV and V7 chords that almost every song is structured around, and throwing in improve notes in the scales of the key signature. It honestly wasn’t a big deal, and trust me, I’m no piano prodigy here (for that, you’d have to look to my brother Jarom, one of those weirdos that loved piano lessons…).
To the untrained eye, the piano must look so strange. Like a foreign object. Like when I look at computer code (even after one semester of learning Java in college). Or anyone looking at or listening to any foreign language. Just complete gibberish.
But of course to those that have taken the time to learn and carry with them years of practicing piano, by choice or by force, it almost feels like a superpower. A gift you’ve been given. A gift that keeps on giving. The musical version of teaching a man to fish.
If you’re a kid in piano lessons, keep it up. I know it sucks. Scales and chords and theory… bleh. But it’s worth it. If you’re a parent with a kid taking lessons, don’t let them quit. It’s worth it. They will tell you when they’re older how grateful they are you kept them in piano lessons. I promise you.
In my adult years I’ve always strived to have a piano in our home. Not a grand piano (I wish!) but something I can play and my own kids can practice on. I didn’t turn into a professional pianist or singer or musician. But I have the foundation of piano underneath me, and with a piano in our home, I’ve been able to play, compose, write, perform, make videos, play with my kids, make up silly songs with them, and enjoy the substantial blessings that a piano brings into the home.
There’s something about playing the piano quietly, especially at night once the kids are in bed, that sooths the soul, warms the home, and heals the stress and axiety of the day.
Imagine if everyone played the piano. If everyone could end their day that way. It might not result in significant life changes, but it would bring more peace to a world that desperately needs it.
And to my parents, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:
I’m grateful I leaned the piano.
Mikey He Writes It 