Well, Enough About Me…

We’ve all heard the line:

Enough about me…what do YOU think of me?

Ever realize you get so caught up in your own vision you forget:

The situation isn’t about YOU?

Just a rhetorical question.  Except not for me.  Since I mentioned it I have to ‘fess up (otherwise I wouldn’t have this blog post!).  And my answer is:

All too often.

How much my being an only child plays into this, I don’t know.  But I freely admit my forays into egocentricity because I realize that as a parent (it’s ok to silently agree with this) I hope my kids will follow in my footsteps. The good stocking’d feet kinda footsteps and not the icky sticky muddy ones that mess up the freshly-mopped floors.

You see, music has been a passion of mine since I tried my parents’ patience with repeated renditions of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on three-hour car trips to Kansas City. (I clearly remember my mom requesting I “sing something else for awhile.”) And later on when I decided to learn the trumpet and was relegated to the basement to rehearse my beginner-level book.  It didn’t bother me, though (the trumpet is kinda loud), because music was my thing.  And my passion being so much of who I have become, I always thought…no, assumed…on of my kids would play a musical instrument and that that instrument should be the piano.

I never learned piano, although have long wanted to.  Citing time, space, and expense, I have put off this desire for many years.  Until our three kids came along.  Seeing my son at age three bang away on his great-grandmother’s baby grand, I had high hopes for my…ahem, his…interest.  Then a move to a new neighborhood, and soon thereafter to a different state, the need to “get settled” placed the wish to tinkle some ivories yet again on a high shelf.

But now with the prospect of school orchestra on the horizon, and friends involved in music lessons, we took our kids to a recital.  My kids love the old upright piano sitting in the hall, a hall of a building we frequent for one reason or another (mostly for its ice cream shop).  But that day the pull of the rickety instrument seemed stronger than usual, fueled by my own underlying hopes the piano (although not that particular model) would be my kids’ favorite instrument of the afternoon.

And the performances would test just that:  the featured instruments of the recital were all stringed versions.  No piano pieces or accompaniments involved.  But most of the artists were children and I hoped seeing some peers express themselves through music would inspire at least one of my kids enough to go at that hall-piano with extra enthusiasm, the final instrument they would lay eyes on before heading home and the one they had actual access to that day.

But no one touched the piano on the way out.

Okay.  The kids were hungry and tired so once the recital was over, they were ready to eat.  That, I rationalized,  was why they couldn’t be bothered with the piano on our way out the door.  However, as we rode home I asked, “Hey, what did you think about the recital?  What did you like?  What was your favorite song”  What was….?”  The suspense was killing me.  My younger son piped up:

“I loved the violin!”  Then he starts air-violin…ing.

“All you have to do is move the bow across the strings!!!!”

Well, not all, I tried to explain to him.  But he would hear none of that.  I brought up the piano, and how much he loved to play on the one outside the recital hall.

“No way, Mom.  I LOVED the violin.  The piano has WAY too many keys to press!  There’s just a few strings on a violin!”  And he pantomimed away.

My heart a little hurt, I didn’t give up on my mission just then.  I mean, I told myself, my son is so not a violinist.  He loves strong percussive beats so he should play a percussion instrument.  And…

I HAVE ADORABLE PICTURES OF HIM AS A TODDLER PLAYING HIS GREAT-GRANDMOTHER’S PIANO!!!!!

Oh. no.  There it was.  I thought I was being a good mom by encouraging an interest in music but finally found myself facing the music:  my own agenda.

Hey, Mom?  This is not about you.

My son is a walking stream-of-consciousness, verbally and physically.  I knew to wait and see if his desire to play the violin would be fleeting or not.  But I also know once he makes a decision he doesn’t change his mind.  The recital is now a few weeks in the past and “or not” is winning.  I took my son to observe a group violin lesson and he was about as still as I had ever seen him.  To get closer to the “action” he moved his 85-pound frame from his own seat to a place on my lap.   A clear indication he is hooked.  He loved “everything” about what he saw and heard, from the instructor to the music, except for “Hot Cross Buns” (I can’t say I blame him there.).  So we are going to start him in Suzuki violin lessons this fall.  Will he stick with it?  Hard to say.  I still think the violin is a surprising choice for him but I am not my son.  He clearly is interested and who am I to say “no” to something he is enthusiastic about?

So that’s enough about me and my (own) desire to play the piano, because this really is about my learning to listen to my son’s heart and not my own.  And to listen to whatever music he makes with the violin.  I promise I won’t put you in the basement to practice, kiddo, unless I’m there with you.

[The “Enough about me…” quote is said by Bette Midler’s character in the movie Beaches (1988).]