Reunion with the Piano

Despite living in the middle of nowhere, I started taking piano lessons in kindergarten.

Why did I begin learning piano under parents who weren’t particularly knowledgeable about music? I’d say it was 90% brainwashing from my mother’s own aspirations.

My first teacher was strict. I often walked home crying after lessons.

“Why didn’t you practice!”

I have almost no memories of piano lessons being enjoyable.

Then one day, my piano teacher had a baby.

When I rang the doorbell at her house—still called the “piano studio”—like usual,
she yelled, “You’ll wake the baby!”

After that, I moved around a lot, and with each new place came a new piano teacher.

There was the young, cute teacher who always served delicious tea and sweets; the teacher who spent lesson time cooking instead of teaching, leaving students neglected; the teacher who arrived massively late, stayed for just 15 minutes, then hurriedly left.

(Writing this far, I’m starting to think these teachers were the reason I lost my motivation for piano…)

I think my passion for piano faded quite early on.

However, Japanese education thirty years ago simply wouldn’t let you quit something you’d started so easily.

You needed a proper reason to quit.

But as mentioned earlier, especially in the latter half of my piano life, I had a string of less-than-enthusiastic teachers. So when I entered middle school, I was finally able to quit piano.

Once you decide to quit, it starts to feel like a waste.

At least I can play piano, more than someone who never tried.

Even though I hated practicing so much, touching the piano again at school after so long was strangely enjoyable.

But humans gradually forget things if they only touch them occasionally.

By the time I entered the workforce, I’d regressed back to the level of playing “Neko Funjatta” (a simple piano tune).

My reunion with the piano suddenly happened because of my six-year-old daughter’s simple request: “I want a piano!”

We live in an apartment, so we can’t have a real piano. We might move again in the future.

But I wanted to respect my daughter’s desire to play.

Or maybe that’s just an excuse.

After all, I’m the one who quit piano after ten years of lessons—maybe I was the one who really wanted it.

Watching my daughter write a letter to Santa asking for “a real piano,” I found myself feeling happy.

Christmas Day.

The piano was indeed placed under the Christmas tree.

Will our family truly be able to enjoy life with a piano?

To be continued…