The Pianist
It was the last session of the day and I had twenty-five lively grade one children sitting attentively in front of me. This was unusual. Their quiet, expectant demeanour probably had something to do with the fact that I was about to play the piano, which – to the horror of any music education purist – is a rarity in my classroom. My fingers feel at home curled around the neck of anything with exposed strings; they quiver in the proximity of ivory. After sending three piano teachers batty, I’ve decided there’s a kind of reverse polarity that occurs when my fingers get within striking distance of a keyboard. If a concert pianist’s fingers are drawn to the keys like magnets, mine are repelled – at the moment of impact they hit the notes beside.
So to dare to play the piano for this group of cherubs had required a fair amount of audacity.
It was a simple Japanese folk song with two chords, which sounded much prettier on the piano than the guitar. At home, on my piano, it sounded sensational – and I even practised playing with my eyes closed, so I’d be able to turn and look at the children while I performed it.
The keys of the school piano, I discovered, had extremely powerful anti-magnets. I fluffed my way through, trying to sing loudly whenever my finger kept hitting the F sharp, even though the piece was in B flat. I hoped the teacher in the room next door was engaged in a noisy activity with her class.
I was about to capitulate and reach for my guitar, when something remarkable happened.
‘I could play that,’ piped up a voice from the back of the room. It came from a child who rarely uttered a word in my class.
Delighted she’d shown such boldness, I offered her the piano stool – but with guitar at the ready.
Her eyes scanned the music in front of her and she began, sight-reading the piece perfectly. It was a little too slow for the class to sing along to, but by the third pass, she had it under her fingers like a pro. We added drums and maracas, the rest of the children sang and I enjoyed the freedom of not having to control my recalcitrant fingers.
We applauded her warmly and I invited her to take her place with the others so I could finish the lesson with one more activity before the bell rang. There was a moment of hesitation. Her eyes glinted with a flash of mischief.
She remained on the stool.
Then she launched into the most incredible piece of piano playing I have ever heard from a child so young. I was spell-bound. As was every child in the room.
It was magic.
Such hidden treasure tucked away at the back of the room. I have never been so grateful for a dud note. Bless that F sharp – and for the ear that could not bear to hear it one more time!
So to dare to play the piano for this group of cherubs had required a fair amount of audacity.
It was a simple Japanese folk song with two chords, which sounded much prettier on the piano than the guitar. At home, on my piano, it sounded sensational – and I even practised playing with my eyes closed, so I’d be able to turn and look at the children while I performed it.
The keys of the school piano, I discovered, had extremely powerful anti-magnets. I fluffed my way through, trying to sing loudly whenever my finger kept hitting the F sharp, even though the piece was in B flat. I hoped the teacher in the room next door was engaged in a noisy activity with her class.
I was about to capitulate and reach for my guitar, when something remarkable happened.
‘I could play that,’ piped up a voice from the back of the room. It came from a child who rarely uttered a word in my class.
Delighted she’d shown such boldness, I offered her the piano stool – but with guitar at the ready.
Her eyes scanned the music in front of her and she began, sight-reading the piece perfectly. It was a little too slow for the class to sing along to, but by the third pass, she had it under her fingers like a pro. We added drums and maracas, the rest of the children sang and I enjoyed the freedom of not having to control my recalcitrant fingers.
We applauded her warmly and I invited her to take her place with the others so I could finish the lesson with one more activity before the bell rang. There was a moment of hesitation. Her eyes glinted with a flash of mischief.
She remained on the stool.
Then she launched into the most incredible piece of piano playing I have ever heard from a child so young. I was spell-bound. As was every child in the room.
It was magic.
Such hidden treasure tucked away at the back of the room. I have never been so grateful for a dud note. Bless that F sharp – and for the ear that could not bear to hear it one more time!
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