Why Play the Piano?

There’s much talk these days about the demise of a liberal arts degree. We seem to be living in a black and white world full of the importance of practicalities and making money. Although I certainly have my long list of all that needs doing and am always aware of the checking account balance, I have never lived in that world.

When I was in high school I had the opportunity to learn the family automobile business.  Both my dad and grandfather were prominent Lubbock businessmen and would have been thrilled if one of us kids wanted the business. But when it came time to go to college I went another direction and became a piano major. Thankfully my parents never questioned this seemingly impractical choice and I never looked back.

Sure, I haven’t made a lot of money, but I’ve always had what I needed. And yes, I’ve had to cut some corners and accept a few more students or wedding jobs than I really wanted. But working in the arts has simply fulfilled and fed my soul in a way nothing else could.

Being a pianist and organist has allowed me to communicate joy, compassion, concern, sympathy and love without needing to say a single word. Just the right music at a funeral service brings comfort and a sense of not being alone in grief. Had I needed to speak at my dad’s and mom’s funerals I would have broken down…instead I played a single piece on the piano that said it all. And at Emily’s wedding reception my toast was Debussy’s The Girl with the Flaxen Hair. She and I were both in tears when it came to an end.

On a lighter note there’s an old, beat-up piano at the gazebo on the village green in Bar Harbor. It’s there for anyone to play. Walking by a few days ago I sat down and played a couple of rounds of Greensleeves. Despite a goodly number of notes that didn’t work and the piano being terribly out-of-tune, a young man caught up with me as I walked away. “Thank you, thank you so much! You have just made my day. I loved hearing the piano.” He went on to tell me that the music reminded him of his father, now deceased, who filled the family household with piano music. I left feeling that I had made a small difference for the good.

On our recent vacation to Grand Manan Island we decided to visit the Anglican church on Sunday morning. It was the anniversary of my mother’s death and it seemed like a meaningful way to honor her. When we arrived everyone was in a tizzy, including the priest, because there was no power. A number of church members thought there was no church, including the organist. You probably see where I’m going here…when the priest announced that we’d be singing a capella I timidly spoke up and offered to play. Something so easy, so natural for me…and the congregation was grateful and happy.

So was I...