Music lessons.

Last night Mike and I enjoyed an evening with The Coug. I've pretty much been a fan all my life. It's probably a little weird and probably not very hip. But it's music I remember listening to as a kid and it's always stuck with me. I like his grittiness, his real-life lyrics, his awareness that he has so much and his willingness to give back. I like him. We were definitely some of the youngest people there but it was a fun show.

He had this violinist who had some of the most cut arms I've ever seen. Lemme tell you something, this girl was a-ma-zing. I mean, she got to a point where she didn't even look human with her actions. She looked possessed and chaotic, but damn was it impressive.

It got me thinking. You know how when you're a kid and your parents force you to play an instrument but you think it's lame and then you're 32 and you wish you had stuck with it longer and could be better at it and then you have a kid and you realize that you're going to force them to play an instrument too so that when they're 32 they'll realize why you forced them? Yeah, me too.

I took piano lessons for about six years and I hated them. They were on Saturday mornings and screwed up my sleepover parties and really got in the way of my sacred Saved By The Bell time. Thank goodness for VCRs, ammi right? I was always so resentful of them. I hated practicing and lessons and recitals and having my old lady teacher cut my fingernails with her kitchen scissors because my nails were too long and would click on the keys. That hurt.

But then it would come Christmas time and I would play my repertoire of Christmas songs for my family and it would make them so happy. My grandparents and great aunts and uncles would beg me to play every year. And I was always petrified. That meant I would have to be the center of attention and show them that maybe I didn't practice as often as I should have. But they loved it! They ate it up. My great uncle would always give me money afterward to thank me. I still play those same songs every year. They're elementary level songs but my fingers know exactly what to do and I'm sorta proud that I at least know how to play some piano. My rendition of O Little Town of Bethlehem would bring tears to your eyes. It's my favorite to play.

Sometimes I'll bust out my old recital pieces - those are actually some really cool songs - and pretend like I'm a fifth grader again in my fancy velvet dress and patent leather shoes bowing before and after I've played. And inevitably my Dad will yell from the other room, "Play Harmonica Man for me!" So I do. It's his favorite. I figure it's the least I can do for always whining about having to go to lessons every week.

So, Stella: what do you want me to force you to take up? The piano or the violin? It's your choice, but YOU'RE DOING IT! You're welcome.