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Piano, My Worst Nightmare

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It happens in every family. As children grow up they form opinions of their own, and one of their opinions will cause the first argument with their parents. One of the longest standing arguments I had with my mom was whether or not I had to play the piano. She put me in lessons starting in the second grade. Playing the piano seemed fun at first, because it was something different. The bright and shiny newness wore off quickly, however. After only two or three lessons, I had slammed my mind’s door shut. I despised piano. Everyday after school I loathed practicing. Sitting on the piano bench could make only fifteen minutes feel longer than two hours. I fought my mom with every ounce of dislike I had for the piano everyday through elementary school, and I dreamed of quitting just as all of my childhood friends did. To my dismay however, my mother never allowed me to stop taking lessons, and for doing that I will be grateful to her for the rest of my life.

It took until the seventh or eighth grade for me to realize how privileged I was to be allowed to take lessons. Because of how much my parents valued my education they spent many hours in the car dragging an extremely ungrateful child to lessons, and spent a lot of money paying for my lessons. After coming to this realization, I once again opened that door that I had slammed shut so long ago. Although I was willing to give piano a chance, I was determined I would never like it. After a few months, I realized that lessons were not the worst forty-five minutes of my week, and my piano teacher was not the monster I once thought she was. Playing the piano can be fun and relaxing, and if the worst experience if my week was piano lessons, then my life was pretty wonderful.

Even though my mom reminded me after every tantrum that piano was a vital part of my education, I never believed that I would actually learn anything from it. However, not only did I learn to play the piano at my lessons, but I learned a multitude of other life skills. I learned that quitting will not ever be an option, that anything can be accomplished with a little discipline and a lot of hard work, that my mom truly does know what she is talking about, and most importantly to always keep an open mind.

I know that one day it will happen in my family. My children will grow up and form their own opinions. Though our fights may not be about the piano, I hope that I can handle the arguments as gracefully as my mother, and teach my children the lessons my mother has instilled in me.





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