The Music Teacher

The child brought the apple to her music teacher at the last lesson before summer vacation. And she also gave her teacher a card that said, "You're special." The music teacher was my mother, and this was her last year teaching private piano lessons.

My mother was a very talented musician, and one of the best private piano teachers in Oak Ridge. She taught lessons all during my school years.

As I grew up, of course, I also took lessons from her. Until, that is, I got to high school, when our power struggles and personality conflicts peaked (teenage rebellion, you know), and we both agreed it would be better for me to switch to another teacher. One of her friends kindly agreed to "take me on." It turned out to be a much better arrangement. Mrs. Maxwell was a very sweet, gentle lady, as well as a good teacher. These lessons were much less stressful for both teacher and pupil.

My mother taught only advanced students, but she suggested that I might enjoy teaching some of the beginners who had called for her. I did that, and made a little extra money that way. I even taught my father the basics of notes, and reading the scales. (I'm sure he was just humoring me, as his lessons didn't last very long. But he was a good sport about it all.)

When it came time for me to go away to college, I decided I'd had enough, and refused to take piano while I was there. I knew I'd never get even close to my mother's ability, so much to my later regret, I stopped entirely. It's one of those examples of making decisions as you grow up, and then having to live with them. In later years, I'd sometimes try to pick it back up, but never stuck with it for long.

The music community in Oak Ridge was a very important part of my life as I was growing up. I feel fortunate to have had such a talented mother. I only wish I had appreciated her more at the time.