Lessons Learned
The First
Recital
Six
years old with a brand new dress, curled hair adorned with a complimentary bow,
and fancy patent-leather shoes; the world was perfect in this moment and this
little girl’s smile matched the shining sun. Recital day was here. But for one
who had never been to a piano recital, who didn’t fully comprehend what was in
store, this experience to this point resembled a lovely and very special party.
The simple sweet piano selection was memorized and had been for many weeks. The Princess Waltz was the ideal selection for an
occasion such as this very first recital. We were to bring the music with us to
the recital. My family was dressed up and ready to travel to the downtown
YWCA where the recital was to occur in a large reserved auditorium. Upon
arrival, we noticed that the auditorium was fast filling with supportive family
and friends, quietly finding suitable seats and engaging in hushed, congenial
conversations along the way. All of the piano students, at least fifty of us,
were to convene at the front of the hall, near the stage upon which we were to
present our selections on the huge shiny black grand piano which sat front and
center. Our teacher, a stern perfectionist-type retired concert pianist,
organized us into our seating order with a wave of her hand. We were to play in
our age order, which meant I was to play first. At the appointed time and
following necessary salutations and recognitions, our teacher commenced the
recital. Silence. My name was called. My patent-leather shoes clicked on the
tile floor all the way to the stage steps, which I ascended with The Princess Waltz in my hands. She stood at the
top of the stage stairs, at the corner of the stage rather like one of the
guards at Buckingham Palace and collected music as the performers, in this
particular instance me, proceeded to the Steinway and prepared to play.
Silence. My patent-leathers couldn’t reach the pedals, the gravity of the
situation descended around that piano bench with oppressive heaviness, and in
that painful silence a six year old’s mind went blank; The Princess Waltz was absolutely nowhere to be found.
From her corner, after an eternity of silence, the sentry-teacher began
heralding each note of The
Princess Waltz to me as one
might call off bingo numbers. The gentle musical flow of that sweet song was
fully lost in the punctuated call and response playing. She could have brought
me my music but she did not. Crushing mortification. Crushing. And then it was
done before anyone could fix it. In the shocked silence that accompanied
my clicking walk from the piano to the sentry’s corner to collect the
illusive music, one didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone in the room for
each one unequivocally understood with brimming tears the depth of hurt which
had just occurred. I didn’t return to my seating order and didn’t ask
permission either, my party dress and I, instead, found our way to my family
where on daddy’s lap I melted into a puddle of embarrassment. Sometimes,
hopefully not too often, our lessons are learned through circumstances that
break and hurt.
