Piano Lessons for a Life Time!

Seven piano lessons in two days, and tomorrow two more!

Each student has a different way of thinking of music. Each one has a built-in sense of rhythm and motivation to practice. Each student learns in a different way. It is my job to be able to teach each one in a way to make learning to play the piano an adventure. Push without discouragement. Recently I learned that discussing with the student how many pieces they should learn, they respond positively. They are making choices. Some of my students set their own goals.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. An hour a day of practice makes the piano teacher happy.
It is late at night….but I tried.

My piano lessons began at the tender age of six. My mother taught me. She exacted an hour of practice a day — even when the day’s remaining sunlight beckoned me each evening. There I sat on the bench watching the clock crawl away the minutes. I learned many lessons while practicing.

• I learned that Mom knew when I lied about practicing after school even when she wasn’t at home. She simply asked, “Then why are my piano books on top of yours on the piano?”
• Then there was the incredible lesson — about making a choice. Since mother was in the basement sorting laundry, I thought it would be a snap to choose to read. Carefully I reviewed the song I was to practice. Piece of fudge — C D, C B, C D C. Then I laid prone on my tummy and positioned my current book on the floor. Multi-tasking was unknown at the time, but I played the song, more or less, with my toes and the rest of me was involved with the story in the book. I can still see Mom as she stood in the doorway of the living room, arms akimbo, saying, “Suzy!” She confiscated the book, and I returned to an upright position and practiced with full concentration. Seems to me that I remember sitting on a warmed bottom that added fire to the rendition of C D, C B, C D C.
• I learned that when you make a mistake in the middle of a song, don’t begin at the beginning. One day I learned that lesson after I played the same two lines of the song 15 times. Couldn’t get past that one mistake. Now I know to practice the one phrase.
• I can still hear Mom admonish me strongly, “Go on!” That was after I played the disonant chord disonantly loud the 20th time proclaiming, “This is wrong, Mom, it sounds terrible.” Sure enough, when I ‘went on’, the disonant chord resolved itself. That is when I learned that you can’t enjoy harmony as sweetly as when there is some disonance first.
• While attending Christian Endeavor (teens at church) I became the pianist. Every Sunday evening I ran to the piano, played the C scale rapidly two times, and off I ran to church to play “Wonderful Words of Life”. Dutifully the teens sang “Wonderful Words of Life.” After three months, one of the boys asked, “Can’t you learn to play another song?” From that my repertoire grew, slowly. It took some practice.

Later Mrs. Karnes was my teacher. It was interesting to go to her house and take a lesson while I was in high school. Then Bob Laughlin, a professor at OCU, became my piano teacher. Henri Robbins taught me lessons while I attended the Junior College in Dodge City, Kansas. Four teachers. I listened to others and tried to emulate their styles of playing.

I learned the hard way that practice is needed. When we lived in Joplin, my dear father-in-law took me to piano heaven. In the upper part of the music store stood rows and rows of pianos. I had seen pianos at home, in church, in the practice rooms, in funeral homes, wedding chapels but only one at a time. My father-in-law told me to try the pianos and choose one. I sighed. This would take awhile. Reminded me of sorting the huge pile of potatoes, large from small, in the backyard. How small is small, how large is large? Which piano should I choose? Finally I found one. A Chickering. My father-in-law blanched when he heard the price of this stringed wonder. “I will have to sell some more cattle.” Then he made the arrangements to pay for the Chickering and it was delivered to our house.

When we moved to the farm, and the 3rd child was on the way, I didn’t practice. Finally, the piano was moved to the small house. I reached for the music that I played at OCU. My fingers faltered and stopped. I realized that not practicing makes a difference. I cried.

The piano was moved about 8 times, tuned and then ready to go. I knew my children would be destined to learn to enjoy the instrument as much as I did. They watched me play by the hour. Later, when dusting the piano, I noted the teeth marks. A bit disillusioned, I realized they were teething!

The four children did learn some piano. The three boys learned enough to become proficient on the guitar, the trumpet, the clarinet, the flute, the saxaphone, the drums. Our house was always filled with attempts at music. Anna, our daughter, painted her bedroom orange one year. That was the year we moved the piano to her bedroom. Her Dad, working below her in the basement, was privy to her attempts to play the piano. She taught herself how to play while in high school. He said that the practice made her perfect. He began to enjoy her playing.

After retiring from teaching school, I began teaching piano to a few students. Some of the students do not want to practice in this age of instant gratification, they believe taking a few lessons should make them into prodigies of the keyboard. What I have learned is teaching piano includes practicing patience yet be firm. Many times I become a cheer leader while being a nurturing nudger.

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