Do you make them, or do you let them...?

Hannah and a friend playing for the fun of it, about age 8

Music lessons.  Here's a topic with lots of possible opinions.

A friend of mine forces her children to take piano until they are 18, at least the ones who show any amount of aptitude for learning to play.  I have another friend who felt rather scarred for life from a childhood of being forced to take piano lessons well past the time she was ready to quit.  None of her kids take piano lessons.

Yours truly, 1967

My mom was a piano teacher, so I guess I never really gave it much thought.  I started playing piano the summer after first grade and never quit until my sophomore year in college.  For me it was a privilege, a joy, and a wonderful pastime.  It still is.  There is nothing more therapeutic than to sit down at the piano on a quiet Saturday afternoon and play to my heart's content.  I love music.

When my children were growing up, I had visions of one or more of my children following in my mom's and my footsteps and becoming a pretty good piano player.  At the same time, I didn't want to be the piano teacher myself.  I was already home schooling, and adding one more class to teach when I was still struggling to get little ones to tie their own shoes and be potty-trained - well, the very thought just threw me over the edge toward insanity.

The oldest, Christopher, took piano from a nice missionary neighbor, which was the simplest solution since he could walk to his lessons and back.  He was fairly motivated (you know firstborns), so I didn't have to hound him to practice.  He had already learned the basics on a computer program, so piano came easy for him.  He lost interest when his teacher went on furlough, though, and never picked it up again.

The next four took lessons from a retired concert pianist who happened to be living in Oaxaca City at the time.  Hamilton Monroe was a fabulous teacher, and each one made amazing progress during the time they continued.  I was lax about insisting on practice, though, hoping they would be motivated enough by the lessons and the music itself.  Mostly that worked.  Then again sometimes not.

Tim and Mike found other compelling interests once they hit the teen years, and soon gave up on piano.  Hannah was the one who intrigued Hamilton the most.  He was fascinated with her ease in picking up piano, and in fact she did learn very quickly, and played beautifully.

Then we went on furlough. 

Arriving in Ohio, Hannah's grandma had found a piano teacher at the community college who agreed to give Hannah an audition even though she was only eleven.  That led to free piano lessons by a fabulous Italian teacher.  Sadly, though, the teacher insisted on taking Hannah back to the basics, shocked at how very little music theory she had learned.

Hamilton had taught Hannah to simply "grab" the notes, never worrying about what they were called.  She knew intervals, and could transpose effortlessly just by using her ear and sliding the notes up and down the music staff.  Emanuela was not impressed.  Learning at a new level was challenging, and frankly, not so fun.

Before long, Emanuela was snatched up by the Cleveland Institute of Music, and no longer available to teach Hannah at the community college.  That ended that.

Hannah never touched the piano again after that.  (Did I mention that we broke the bank to buy a piano for her to use that furlough?)  Anyway, it was heart-breaking for me to watch her give it up.  I missed hearing her music at random hours through the day.  I cried over it.  I prayed over it.  I wondered if I were the worst mother ever by letting her quit.

My hope was that in not pressuring her,  she would change her mind once we returned to Oaxaca.  That ended up being a year and a half later, and by that time Hamilton had died.

Back in Mexico I was persuaded to give piano lessons to some new kids in town who had hoped to take from Hamilton, based on my recommendation.  It killed me to watch these three boys progressing while Hannah continued to avoid the piano.  Nonetheless I felt that piano is a privilege and a joy.  If I were to force her to play, she would only resent it.

Then - low and behold - the day came when I glimpsed a spark of interest.  I was playing a duet with a piano student, Isaac, and Hannah came in and admired it.  I suggested she learn to play my part so she and Isaac could play it together.  Isaac snorted (he denies this, but it remains a fact in my memory bank), and said to her, "You can't play piano."

That did it.  The stubborn streak she had been hiding for so long finally reared its head, and she would not be content until she mastered that piece on the piano.  Sitting down on the bench, she asked Isaac what note it began on.  Again he groaned and said this was ridiculous.  You can't play if you don't know where the notes are!  I showed her on the piano which key it was, and alas, she began to pick it out.

Fast forward to summer.  On her request, I sent Hannah to a week (or was it two?) of music camp in Puebla (the state adjoining Oaxaca).  Once again, she had to start from scratch, learning music theory and how to play piano.  At the end of camp I drove up for the closing program, where the director told me that he was highlighting Hannah at the big auditorium.  (Normally the beginners played back in a small chapel.)  He was astonished at how much progress she made and how beautifully she played.

I sat and cried tears of joy as she played "Danny Boy" from the John Thompson beginner book.  It was a glorious rendition by the youngest student at the camp.

That fall she willingly signed up for piano lessons with a new French teacher in Oaxaca City at the new music institute.  Blandine, teaching completely in Spanish (their common language), pushed Hannah along at a pace that surprised me.  Her husband, Christophe, put her in a weekly theory class with other students (including Isaac and his brother).

By November she played Chopin's Minute Waltz in a music school recital.  I don't know who was more surprised, me or Isaac.

Me and my could-be-famous-someday former student, Isaac, 2011

So now Hannah plays piano again when she can.  As a college student she has very little time for such frivolity.  Ironically, though, Isaac is a music major in college, far surpassing Hannah once again.

You never know.  (Maybe if I had nudged her just a little bit, Hannah could have been a concert pianist by now....)

It all goes back to what I've said about parenting books.  I would never write one.  I would never suggest other people do as I have done.  I'm not confident enough to ever suggest that I did it the "right" way.  On the contrary, I often suspect I did more bad than good.  My adult children have turned out the way they have in spite of my parenting.

As for my friend who forced her kids to take piano lessons whether they wanted to continue or not - she can take partial credit for Isaac's success.   She will go down in history as "Isaac's mum."

Meanwhile I'm just the mom of a third-generation "pretty good" piano player.  But come to think of it,  that's all I wanted anyway.

Hannah, 2008, playing just for the fun of it