Rising to the Occasion

This weekend I was treated to one of those special parenting moments that sneaks up on you when you least expect it and makes your heart simply burst with love and pride. I can’t believe that I didn’t see it coming.

Our Sunday was packed with end-of-season soccer games and a picnic at Nobles. The weather was beautiful, we were outside from 10 am on and therefore had put our afternoon event somewhat on the back burner. We had it on the calendar and knew we would make it, but Georgia’s first piano recital hardly seemed like the focus of the weekend.

You know what?  It should have been.

Georgia started taking piano lessons in September from our friend and neighbor, Sharyn Duncan. We thought that it would be something that she may like, as she tends to have quite an artistic side to her. Seeing as so many of the kids in our neighborhood have been Sharyn’s pupils over the years, we figured it was a great fit.  

Of course, trying to get a first grader to practice the piano once a day is about as easy as nailing jello to a tree.

We tried not to push her too hard, as we’ve learned by now that when one nags a strong-willed little girl, one pays dearly with an abundance of attitude and exaggerated eye-rolls. Plus, both Andy and I didn’t want to make her hate piano because of “all the practicing.”

I mean, we were talking 10 minutes a day. We would have been happy with 10 minutes a week. 

Georgia had been very nonchalant about her upcoming recital to the point where we were wondering if she even cared. She willingly showered beforehand and with just a minor disagreement on what to wear, she pulled on her skirt, dressy shoes and off we went.

Upon arrival at , Georgia seemed to hold her head a little higher as she realized the gravitas of the event. She sat in the front with sheet music in her lap and prepared to dazzle the audience.

I’ll admit, as I looked at the kids around the room, I was a little concerned that Georgia didn’t have time to run through her songs before we left the house. I kept it to myself and while having nightmare flashbacks of taking high school tests that I hadn’t studied for, hoped that she would rise to the occasion.

And rise, she did.

Watching my girl bow before the audience, sit down on the bench with her little feet dangling below and play three pieces, I was floored. She seemed to have the poise of someone four times her age and sailed through “Cowboy Joe,” “Lullaby and Goodnight” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” without a single mistake. As she took her final bow and returned to her seat, I bit back tears at what a great little performer she had become.

She’ll continue piano next year and while I would love to see her playing concertos by Mozart or Chopin, I’ll try to keep my expectations realistic. At this point I’ll be happy to see her practice 10 minutes a day.

Or week.