Life Preservers

I’m a Clunker!

August 29, 2026 at 5:36 pm Leave a comment

I’ve been to a broad range of concerts in my six decades, including Bette Midler, Bruce Springsteen, The Chieftains, and Pavarotti. But the absolute best live musical performance I have ever witnessed was my mother and her father, my Grampap Doc, playing a rowdy Chopsticks duet.

Most everyone knows the Chopsticks tune, but I promise you have never heard it played like they did—with wild flourishes, endless improvisation, fingers flying, joy soaring. When the two of them sat side-by-side at the piano, the ivories were tickled.

Oh what I would give to hear them play again. And how I’ve wished that I could play like that. Unfortunately, I only inherited my mother’s piano, not her talent.

I have been playing the piano—poorly—since I was a small child.

Truth be told, I didn’t like to practice and I hated going to lessons. My mother expected me to be excited and appreciate the opportunity, but I behaved like a brat, and I was miserable. (Sorry Mom.) Even now, my shoulders tense at the thought of the piano teacher sitting beside me, emitting little grunts of dissatisfaction, her pencil poised to mark my mistakes.

When I was a kid, I’d be asked to play when we had company. In later years, adult friends, seeing a piano in my house, would ask me to please, please play until I relented and played something. I tell you true, responses to my performances in each and every case were unambiguously subdued.

(I should note that my dear father always claims to enjoy it when I play. But he is very kind. And pretty deaf.)

The most I ever played on a regular basis would be the years 2018 to 2023. I played every day for Mom when she got ill. Dementia took away her ability to play the piano but listening to songs she knew made her happy. Then, I played for a bit for my Aunt to give us something to do during visits at the assisted living facility. (And god bless the other residents who wandered in expecting professional entertainment.) Then, I played for my Uncle who loved to sing and, even in his early 90s, knew all the words.

I’m sure the music is better where they are now. I haven’t played much since.

Earlier this year, Dad and I realized Mom’s piano had not been tuned for at least ten years, maybe more, and so we got it done. Afterwards, the tuner recommended that the instrument be played more. So—out of a sense of duty to my Mom’s prized possession and with the extra free time of retirement and with enough distance from the losses in our merry band—I started playing again.  

Yesterday. I had what I can only call a breakthrough. This was not a skills achievement. It was not the unlocking of some latent talent. But it was noteworthy.

I hit a section I know well in a favorite piece of music and, as I played the familiar notes, something shifted. In that moment, I realized for the first time: My piano playing has always been accompanied by an ancient built-up of guilt, disappointment, failure, and little-kid anger. Residual gunk. Irrelevant to me now. And poof! It was like fog dispersing. Or a spell being lifted. Like suddenly and unexpectedly crossing into a zone of lessened gravity. I finished the piece—with some jazzy shoulder work and a flourish.

It was fun.

It was fun like before I started taking lessons, when my siblings and I used to play silly duets and make it up as we went along. It was fun like when we all crowded around my Great Aunt Mae’s piano to sing Christmas carols. It was fun like when Mom let me sit on the piano seat beside her, my little legs dangling to the beat of 60s pop and the great standards.

Music is a life preserver. And I hereby vow to clunk with joy.

PS Today I found a friendly YouTube instructor. I’m going to try to learn how to chord.  

Entry filed under: Life Preservers. Tags: chopsticks, life, music, piano.