The season is upon us. So we drive four hours through pelting rain and snarled-up traffic and across the Ohio River to attend a grandson’s piano recital, one of the many short concerts that pop up each spring.
One by one, pianists leave their front-row seats to play—a kid with big glasses and a cowlick, a silver-headed retiree on a new pursuit, a girl whose feet reach the floor only because she wears platform shoes, and another whose legs dangle all the way through her three short pieces.
“We’ve heard this piece before!” my husband whispers once.
And we had, a hundred times, forty some years ago when our son practiced “Für Elise” for his piano recital.
As the recital nears its end, our grandson takes the stage.
“Are you nervous?” his dad had asked Ben that morning. “Excited?”
“I feel nothing,” he’d said, “absolutely nothing.”
He must have saved his emotions. Now, his hands seem to caress the keys, playing sometimes with strength and sometimes sweetly, sometimes fast and sometimes leisurely, sometimes in short, detached notes and sometimes smoothly.
I’m proud of our grandson. But at the end of the recital, his teacher plays, showing Ben and the rest how it’s really done. He’s perhaps the most exacting instructor Ben’s ever had. And he looks the part—a snowy-haired, bearded man with an erect bearing who sports a bowtie, even while giving piano lessons. Now, under his hands, the piano thunders and trills and sings.
His students lean forward. Even the kid who played “Bullfrog Blues” from a Level 1 book. Besides hearing our grandson play, this continuum of competence is my favorite part of the evening. Like an old country school, all the players are in the same room. And learning at every level is celebrated.
The girl with the dangling legs has reminded everyone else where they started. And the snowy-haired teacher has shown them how far they can go.
Don’t miss this season of spring recitals. If you look, you can find one near you. And you may not need to drive across a river and through snarled traffic to get there.
Apple to Apple 
…….and I’m (at age 84) in the midst of baseball and softball season. As I read this I’m thinking I will likely never be at a piano recital, but the dance is the same. Learning includes bringing your teammates along to be as good as you are, for my almost 13 year great-grandson. Seeing him with his little brother who has trouble holding the bat upright. Pitching to his cousins and their friends.
Another great-grandson who does not excel in hitting the ball, but through determination and practice easily hitting a home run.
It’s the loud interaction from the parents cheering them on regardless. It’s even seeing some families bring these, be it baseball/soccer comrades to sit in church with them on a Sunday morning. I love seeing them find their sweet spot, and it’s an easy golf cart ride away from me.
So yes Phyllis, I get it! Always music to my hears!
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