Playing Piano: I Surrender All

The thing I envy most is the ability to play the piano. Oh, that I could go back to my childhood and stubble upon some old willing teacher that would have sat me down and taught me the gift of piano playing, my life would have being one of even more isolation than it is now. I think about it and imagine that I would never leave these keys of black and white for too long. Just slide my food under the door will you. I'll get to it later. I would have been over weight or skinny as a rail for lack of attentiveness to my own health.

My parents got me a guitar for Christmas when I was in the 3rd grade. I was 8. I was mostly influenced by the Partridge Family. I wanted to play, "Come On Get Happy." The very gray haired children's music teacher at the elementary school agreed to give me lessons. She started out with trying to teach me how to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I was to play this one string at a time over three frets. Can I tell you this bored the hell out of me. It only took three times carrying my guitar to school for after school lessons for me to quit. I think in hindsight she may well have wanted me to quit. I don't remember any persuading to keep with it or my parents telling me the teacher didn't want me to quit.

I started my formal instrument playing with the Trumpet. I wanted to play drums. My daddy wouldn't let me. I was 11 years old. I practiced as I was required and always sat in the first trumpet section all the way through 12 grade. I truly took it for granted that I played an instrument because I had no real idea what it meant in the grander scheme of things. By the time I headed off to college, I left the trumpet behind. Listening other folks make music was more in fashion than playing John Philip Sousa and other military marching music and light symphonic fare that middle aged band teacher's preferred to offer up to us unexposed children at the horizon of integration.

I hated integration. Even though I didn't know it at the time. It was like being adopted into a strange white family with all their traditions begin crammed down your throat without your knowledge of it even happening. Stupid 70's.

Anyway, By the time I hit 30 the guitar reemerged. I was in California at the time. My guitar arrived in the mail much to my surprise. Tim had mailed it to me. Must have been a move of GOD. I was at a very low point in my life. This guitar arrived just at the time when I had nothing else to do. I was spent and broken.

I took this guitar and annoyed my sister day in and day out by willfully learning it. I looked up Guitaruniverse.com. There I practiced, "I Been Through the Desert on a Horse With No Name," by America. Irony to the hilt. I practiced Eagles songs and Paul Simon songs. Any 2 or 3 chord songs that I could strum out. Eventually other guitar folk would pop up and show me things like bar chords or hammer on and off or augmented chords. I learned to play as well as any beginner. I wasn't going to be a shredder or a funk guitarist, more folk and blues strumming with a sprinkling of fingering.

But back to piano. 21 years after guitar strumming, I am now finally turning my attention to my greatest challenge, my unrequited love. 88 keys, one foot, 10 fingers, 2 ears and a heart and soul to figure it out. Slowly, I mean slowly I am going to stick with this thing. I am practicing 2 songs diligently: Happy Birthday and I Surrender All. When these are mastered, it will be a birthday and I will have surrendered. Come hell or arthritis, me and piano will become one.