Turning Point

by Carrie

Grade six. The first of the many turning points in my life. It was when I learned how confidence is made and how a parent’s love truly feels.

Mom said I should take piano lessons. No way! For me, the piano was for sweet looking girls with long delicate fingers and beribboned hair; attired in baby pink dresses tied at the back with a big bow.

I wanted to learn karate. Or judo. Any martial arts. Anything but piano.

But to say no was futile. To insist on martial arts was blasphemy. Obedience or death.

So began the long torturous bi-weekly piano lessons and weekend piano practices. My brain refused to remember the notes. The piano and I had a mutual hatred of each other.

As the recital came near, I began to wish alien abductions were true. I was assigned to memorize the simplest piece. I don’t recall what it was only that it sounded so uninspired compared to my friend’s which made one think of waterfalls, singing birds and swaying trees.

Recital day. I wanted to disappear. I was the girl with the beribboned hair and the pink dress tied at the back with a big bow. The auditorium was full. My Mom and Dad, with beaming smiles, were seated at the middle row. I wanted to shout for my Dad to rescue me.

When it was my turn, I willed myself to be calm. Walk. Bow. Sit. Hands in position. Play!

Play, play…fumble…play some more…fumble, fumble…play, fumble all the way. I forgot my f$#^$^# piece! From the corner of my eye I could see the knowing smiles of the parents seated at the front. I kept at it and when it felt right to stop, I ended with this really professional looking last bang on the keys and stood up.

Polite applause. The audience was a blur as I stood up. And that was when I saw my Dad standing on his seat, clapping with all his might above his head and shouting: “Bravo!”.

It was like the movies. I ran down the steps, straight to my Dad’s outstretched arms and cried me a river. We walked out of the auditorium with his arms around me and all I could hear were the words “why the tears? you did good, you did good, I’m proud of you!”.

My Dad passed away when I was 17. And he never admitted that he had no ear whatsoever for music.