When I was 5 or 6 years old, my parents made me take piano lessons. The key phrase there is “made me.” Music lessons were not optional in my house. Properly raised children played the piano. Period.

My mom had grown up taking piano lessons from my step-grandfather’s first wife (before she passed away) and my mom didn’t even have a piano. She told me she created a piano keyboard out of paper and she practiced on it. Once in awhile, she’d be allowed to practice over at the church because her piano teacher was the organist, my step-grandfather was the preacher, and my grandparents were the first members of the church. Mom took lessons the whole way through high school.

Although she desperately wanted them, Nana never took piano lessons. Her family barely had money for food, much less luxuries like music lessons. When she was in her late-60s, however, she took piano lessons, fulfilling her lifelong dream. In fact, we had a lot of the same Schaum piano books.

Although piano lessons were mandatory, I hated them. I found them boring and tedious. Sure, I learned to read music, keep time without the metronome, and each year at Christmas, I’d learn a few holiday songs. But I never had a recital and never felt like I was working towards anything, although I couldn’t have told you that then. Playing the piano was also a solitary experience.

Week after week, I endured a 30-minute lesson, where I was usually humiliated because I wasn’t very good and I hadn’t practiced enough. Back at my house, it was always a battle to get me to practice. More fights than I can count with my parents centered around getting me to practice. Personally, I wanted to do things like play sports or take dance lessons, but piano lessons were my lot in life.

Finally, when I was in fifth grade, my parents let me stop taking lessons.  For all I know, my piano teacher fired me as her student. Unfortunately, by that point, dance lessons or sports were really out of the question. There were no beginner dance classes for anyone my age and I had already discovered my lack of athleticism in gym classes when I was always picked last for everything and I was the slowest runner in my class.

A year later, in 6th grade, my mom and I agreed to give piano lessons another try with a new teacher. Unfortunately, it turned out that I was as uninterested as I had been previously and I have no doubt it was as miserable for my teacher as it was for me. I don’t know if I was just scarred from my piano lesson experiences in elementary school or what it was, but I still loathed practicing and was bored.

By that point, I was completely engaged in playing the flute, which I’d begun in 5th grade. I played the flute because my mom played it and it was another acceptable instrument for a girl to play. I enjoyed the flute because I liked the concerts we had, there was a social aspect to it, and it was a little competitive with the other flute players in our junior high band. Plus, each year, I did very well playing flute solos in music competitions.

Ultimately, I gave up piano lessons for good in 7th or 8th grade. In high school, college, and even a few times in adulthood, I sat down at my mom’s piano, pulled out some of my old music, and played, just for fun. These days the piano sits unplayed and surely out of tune. I sometimes wish I could still play and that I’d become good at it. I’d love to be able to just sit down and pour out life’s frustrations on the piano keyboard.

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Tonight’s blog post is part of ChicagoNow‘s monthly Blogapalooz-Hour, when Community Manager, Jimmy Greenfield emails us a topic at 9:00 p.m. and we have one hour to write a post and hit publish. Tonight’s challenge:

“Write about something in your life you’ve given up, but that you wish you still did.”

Don’t bail because you can’t think of a good topic. The point of this exercise is to do it no matter what. Be creative, enjoy the process. Use words, images or video. Whatever you need to tell your story.

Be aware of the time. No matter when you finish, please wait until 10 p.m. to publish. Above all, please respect the deadline.

You have one hour.

Go.

Want to read all the posts from tonight’s Blogapalooz-Hour? They’ve all been Storified here.

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