Bits and Pieces

I'll admit, when I was much younger, I was easily discouraged. I think I may have been hard-wired to give up easily. My family never set high standards. We were at the lower end of middle-class, and that's being generous. My Dad worked at Rohm and Haas, the company that invented plexiglass, and my mom was pretty much a housewife until she had a spurt of mid-life ambition, took some business courses, and started a home business daycare. I think this sudden initiative puzzed my father. He wasn't used to women who developed a modicum of self-esteem.

But we weren't encouraged, as kids, to set lofty goals. My parents wanted me and my brother to become tradesmen--plumbers and electricians--and perhaps it would have been better for us if we had. Our lives would have certainly ambled along a simpler, less brambly path through the dark forest of our childhood. Instead, we reached for more vaporous aspirations: art and poetry. Is reading literature at an early age a good thing? If you ask me and my brother be prepared for a long, circuitous and existential circumlocution.

Our father was completely baffled. I know very little of his childhood, but what I do know breaks my heart. He never spoke of his past, and from what little I could find out, I don't blame him. A man who sought solace from his unrelenting work-ethic in beer and sports, he often watched two sporting events simultaneously. He accomplished this feat in the days before television remotes and picture-within-picture (this was the 1960's) by resting a small television set atop the monolithic Zenith squatting at the end of our living room. Not infrequently he'd listen to a third event on a transistor radio.

So he found himself with two intellectual, artistic, and at times, foppish sons who, I'll admit, sometimes sneered at their ignorant, uncouth parents. At least, I know I did, especially when I arrived at an age when I actually realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that not only were they ignorant, but by anyone's standards--they were both also quite insane. I was an odd child. I've been told I was like an old man in a child's body. I apparently used words, phrases and sentence structure no child had any business uttering. I attribute it to being a Seventeenth-century rake cut off short in a sword duel and being suddenly reincarnated. That's my story anyway.

Some parents, finding themselves with intelligent children (or so I hear) encourage their children's talents. These children flower under their parent's tutelage and go on to greatness and fufilling lives. Our parents didn't quite encourage us. It was more like we were taught if you reach too high, you're just setting yourself up for disappointment. Better a life of comfortable mediocrity than one of dangerous ambition.

A parent's teaching is like a strong hypnotic conditioning. Over time, your parent's attitudes sink in and stay in. I know that I, anyway, didn't try as hard as I could in school. Many of my teachers asked me why someone as smart as me didn't use my full potential. I really didn't know. All I knew is that there was this mental barrier; some kind of wall in my mind, composed of fear, self-doubt, contempt, and a feeling that I didn't deserve anything better. I guess I was afraid if I outdid my parents, I was somehow betraying my family. Over time, I developed an understanding of this wall; I came to know it well. I found chinks and cracks in it and eventually learned to accomplish many things in spite of it. But I've never managed to tear it down. Or climb over it. I think it's there for good.

Self-limiting behavior is nothing new or rare. Most people have it to some degree. Self-limiting behavior is a way we keep from going beyond our comfort levels. But when self-limiting turns into self-defeating, then it's time to do something about it. Eventually, I did. It took years.

What this has to do with my decision to play piano is tangential to this discussion but does have some bearing. When I was in school, there were things I could do easily, and other things I could not. In Junior High School, I fell behind in math, for example, because we had a senile teacher who really didn't care if we learned it or not. He was a year away from retirement and was more interested in catching as many peeks up the young girl's skirts as he could while he still had the chance than teaching class. I couldn't learn Algebra or Trig from him and he wouldn't help us if we fell behind. I know know that some kids have parents who help them with homework, or get tutors for their if they need it. At that time, I had neither--neither of my parents went to High School and couldn't help me.

However, subjects such as English and Art were second nature to me. Following the path of least resistance, I flourished in those subjects and barely pulled through in math. But, I could have learned math and done well had someone taken the time to sit down with me and showed me how to do it. Instead, I thought there was something wrong with me and I was "unteachable." So when I graduated from High School, believe it or not, I couldn't do long division. When I went to college, I decided to make up for this lack and took remedial classes. Eventually I majored in Engineering which required me to learn Calculus. I graduated with a 3.35 average. So I knew I could learn math--I could learn ANYTHING--if someone took the time to teach me.

So I was reluctant to try to learn a musical instrument in High School, you see, because I was very good at Art and Writing, and I couldn't stand to be a newbie at something and find I couldn't learn it--math all over again.

Looking over this rather self-indulgent blog, I know it sounds as though I'm dripping with self-pity. But actually I'm feeling pretty good today. What started this round of thought is that we have worked through page 95 of good old Alfred, and I've finally cracked--or at least begun to crack--these songs I'm working on which requires melodic lines with both hands. This is actual piano playing, albeit very simple. Teacher is taking me seriously and nagging me about technique, such as playing softer, louder, hands closer to the keys--you know; actual piano playing technique as opposed to just pushing keys in the right order. I'm LEARNING, you see.

Somewhere inside me is a little kid jumping up and down yelling "Its about time!"