“Tickling the Ivory” runs like blood through my family.
Great grandma, grandma, mom, and I.
It's a legacy I hope is never left behind.
“Hard work, persistence, it will one day all pay off,” I heard umpteen times.
I always wanted to quit, yet they always pushed me to try.
Finger exercises, notes, and chords....
I felt like it couldn't be pounded into my brain anymore.
I fought it and fought it, but one day it clicked.
I actually liked doing it.
Was it as easy as singing, oh heavens no,
and it brought on the nerves like a heavy falling snow.
But... it was good for me,
it made me step out of my comfort zone.
Do I do it all right? Oh goodness no!
I don't think I've yet to play a piece perfectly day or night.
However, it shows I'm human; it gives character to the piece,
and it humbles the pride in me that strives for perfection to a tee.
Music has become my destresser, my solace, my peace.
When I need a break, it's to the piano, and my problems momentarily cease.
It's a “life skill” everyone said, and I'd now certainly have to agree.
It's allowed me to be in a band and play offertories when in need.
It's built my confidence and humbled my pride,
and I hope to continue the legacy.
I want it to survive.