Pianissimo

 The piano just over my right shoulder mocks me. I know that if I sat down and worked at it, that I could pluck out a tune. Once a year, I push my sense memory to its limits by playing the very simple version of Little Drummer Boy that is the remnant of all the Christmas music I used to hammer at when I was a kid. There is also a shred of a Mozart concertina that pops into my brain if I stand in front of the keys long enough. 

But it takes work. Playing anything would require practice, which is something that still raises a hackle or two for me. The actual playing for enjoyment was not something that came to me readily all those years ago. I grew up in a house with a piano, and even though my brothers, my mother and I all played the piano it was only my mother who seemed to rise above that stigma. My brothers and I would lie for one another about the practicing that we had done when questioned by our far-too-trusting mother. My adult perspective suggests that the only ones we were cheating back then were ourselves. I confess that there was relief associated with the time we spent in the summer away from the piano. I understood that I was trading the responsibility for hauling water and chopping wood for the chore of practicing. I was fine with that. Because we hauled our other instruments up into the mountains with us, where we sat on the front porch of our cabin, distressing the wildlife with our clarinet, and our trombone and our sousaphone. There was some novelty in all that honking and squawking. 

All those years of practicing and playing piano instilled an even greater appreciation for music around me. I could read music, and understand if, even if my own performance was limited to those tidbits I squirreled away after all those years of study. Which is probably why I didn't put up much of a fuss when my wife decided that getting a piano for our son to learn how to play. I watched and listened as he navigated so many of the same challenges I encountered in my studies. I attended his recitals and flashed back on my own. I understood that once he reached high school that piano lessons would be set aside so that he could experience all those high school activities that did not require practice. 

That was six years ago. The piano sits right where he left it. The books and sheet music are still there, just in case somebody had the urge to take them on. During the COVID lockdown, my wife bought some stickers that she carefully placed on all the keys, with the intent of reminding herself of the skill she too once aspired to. I could leave this keyboard with letters on it and walk right over there and reacquaint myself right now if I was so inspired. 

But not right now. 

It's summer, after all.