Rewind about 15 years. You will find me desperately finagling with my parents a way out of practicing the "piano". It was a bad word to me. I had taken lessons, I am sure at first, very willingly. And then, as I had made friends and wanted to do things such as prance around the mall and watch Fresh Prince of Bellair and lip-sync to Shania Twain and play soccer... the piano lost it's luster.
Yet my parents kept encouraging me to play. They understood the beauty more than a 12 year old did. They noticed that, once I was actually on the piano bench... it became me. I enjoyed it. And, for a little tike... I wasn't half bad. But I wanted the "cool" things in life. I wanted to go to basketball games and do things like snuggle with our dog. (Basically anything that wasn't called "practice").
So, after 10 years of piano lessons... I stopped at the age of 17.
But last night... I had this urge to play. Our piano is still sitting in the house we are trying to sell. So, I printed off the sheet music to Sara Bareilles' "Uncharted" and drove over to play. I was all alone... in a vacant house... cranking out the music and singing to the top of my lungs.
And it was so so good.
So, I sit here this morning and wonder how I am going to be with my own children. If I see something in them ignite with a certain "instrument", maybe a sport, maybe acting, maybe creating, maybe writing, maybe painting... how am I going to nurture it and what will I do when they resist the "practicing"?
What do you do? Or what do you think you will do?
Because that stinkin' twelve year old that wanted to run around the dumb mall is now very thankful.