I can’t remember how Damien came to go to Piano Lessons.
Was it me? Was it Claire, or did he just say to himself, “It can’t be that hard to play the piano?”
All seemed well. He went to each lesson and rehearsed regularly.
He seemed confident.
Then came the end of term concert and we became part of the audience.
All part of letting go as parents, I suppose.
We listened politely to the other students, but were impatient to hear him, I’m sure you understand.
On his turn, the room fell silent.
He was good, really good, you could tell he had talent by the way he interpreted the score. Finesse and musicality.
Then there were different notes and phrases, not discordant or out of time, just different.
I felt in my heart his discomfort and pain as he finished the piece.
The music teacher gave a glowing appreciation of his improvisational talents, but lost him forever that day.
Shortly after, he explained that playing in public was too stressful and he said he would never play the piano in public again.
He’s remained true to his word although luckily, music is always an important part of his life.
So for me it was a positive experience that gave me a valuable insight into the way stress can creep surreptitiously into his life.
It was a learning experience for both of us.
This weeks Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner (FFftPP), curated by Roger Shipp, suggests using the phrase “This can’t be that hard …” which i have slightly modified and the above photo prompt (© https://pixabay.com/en/people-boy-music-brown-finger-arm-316500/)