Memory Monday: Where the piano earns a bad rap

Being a good mother, or so I supposed, I wanted to expose my sons to the arts. We went to museums and plays. And, I wanted them to learn an instrument.

The one of choice would be the one already available and sitting in the den: the piano. So began several years of punishment for us all.

The only way to describe Son number 2's experience with the piano is as torture. He... well, they just weren't made for each other. There wasn't enough movement for him, because we who play know there isn't supposed to be any wiggling around, etc. We gave up after a year. He is, however, a pretty good dancer, even took salsa lessons while in Costa Rica. Movement.

Son number 1 lasted about three years before I just gave up and eventually put my energies toward fighting some other cause with him. He'd had some talent and has said now that he wishes he'd stayed with it. Well, duh. Haven't we all said that about some pursuit we've abandoned. And, so we can complete the mother-son circle: I told you you'd regret quitting.

But his household has my mother's piano and his daughter, age 2, will sit on the bench for all of 10 seconds. Perhaps there's hope that she'll settle down and not follow in her uncle's motion-happy ways. If not, there's always the salsa.