"Say play the piano, not practice..." the words of my old teacher ring in my ears as I gently prod my boy toward this block of wood and ivory, this maze of strings and hammers that promises a lifetime of joy if you spend a lifetime sacrificing yourself to get there.
Three lessons in and he is still eager, and I am still without teeth marks. But we are only three lessons in and anyone will tell you what we have is nothing but a drop in the bucket. Still, I am encouraged by my little drop, and by the way his fingers are curving nicely and by the way he leans in and counts under his breath. And how he smiles when he is done even though he sighs all the way through.