“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
The house looked dark and foreboding as I stood there waiting for the gates to be opened. Two friendly-looking dogs stared wistfully at me. And then she came out to welcome me in, bestowing her warm sunny smile upon me. Suddenly the house didn’t seem that gloomy anymore.
“Come in, come in!” she said. She asked me to excuse her plain T-shirts and pants look. She had spent the day teaching music to special children and needed to be garbed in something hardy and yet flexible.
“Are you afraid of dogs?”
“No, I love friendly dogs.”
“Here are my sons Al and Dan. My daughter is away.”
“How do you do, guys? Nice meeting ya.”
“You play the guitar, right? Let’s see what you can do with my son’s guitar.”
It wasn’t too long before we were finally sitting in front of her piano. She ran more ‘tests’ to gauge my musical background and know-how (or rather, the lack of it). But she was satisfied with one point, “You have a worshipful heart. And that’s what matters.”
We met barely two weeks ago at a mutual friend’s luncheon. Discovered quickly that we shared the same passions and philosophy of life. I lead a youth cell. She teaches music.
“Now then, let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start,” she said to me and together we broke out into the famous song as she belted the tunes out on her piano. And taught me some key points, warm-up exercises and some broken chords.
There were no raps on my fingers for hitting the wrong note several times. No harsh admonitions. Only gentle firmness and patient instructions. Tips on which piano key to tap on with barely a glance.
There was one thing she requested though. She knew that I had kept long finger nails on my right hand in order to strum the guitar strings. Unfortunately, it was hindering that hand from fingering the piano keys smoothly.
“Can you cut your fingernails for me, Ariel?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Of course.”
I think I’ve found the perfect piano teacher. Without even trying.
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