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electronic-keyboard_piano-size-key-close-up__img_0305 (Photo credit: Public Domain Photos)

After two years of hinting, asking, begging, and cajoling from kid #3, last year I relented and signed #3 up for piano lessons.

It’s not that I have anything against music or music lessons.  No.  But after 20 years of motherhood, I’ve spent thousands of dollars and endless hours fostering every whim that has flitted through my kids’ heads.  Archery.  Guitar.  Little League.  AYSO soccer.  Scouts.  Painting.  Ceramics.  Ballet.  Tap.  Pokemon.

So when #3 started talking about piano lessons, I deflected and, yes, ignored her interest.  Finally, I relented and signed her up for group keyboard lessons at the local park and rec center.  I’m sure #3 had visions of a gleaming baby grand in the front room;  I simply wanted to give her the experience in a time and cost controlled manner.

The keyboard teacher was a young guy (which at this point in my life means he appears to be under 35) who was awesomely talented.  He also had a spare used keyboard which he sold me for $25.  Score!  For very little money, kid #3 was all set to explore and discard the wonderful world of music lessons.

But a funny thing happened.  She loved learning to play the keyboard.  She practiced an hour a day.  Every day.  She looked up piano tutorials online.  She started printing out sheet music to supplement her lesson book.

Obviously, she’s sticking with this.  I looked for used pianos to purchase.  Then I looked for piano rentals.  All were more than my budget could handle.  Then I came across a digital keyboard with weighted keys, constructed like an upright piano.  It feels like a piano.  It sounds like a piano.  It was priced right.  So for Christmas, my parents and I split the cost and made #3 very happy.

She’s gone as far as she can with group lessons and the teacher offers private lessons, so we’ve been trying to work out a schedule.  Last week, we were firming up the plan and he said, “Just shoot me a text with your address and phone number.”

For the first time in years, I felt a blush creep up my neck and cover my face.  I was temporarily mute.  My mouth opened and closed a few times before I was able to squeak out, “I don’t know how to text.”

He laughed and replied, “Oh, you could leave me a voicemail, but I just got my first smartphone and I can’t figure out how to set up voicemail!”

I dug through my purse for a scrap of paper and wrote down our address and phone number.  Here’s hoping that old school still gets the job done.

 

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