![]() I couldn’t look at any of them because in my mind, I had failed. Okay, fine, if it wasn’t my show, then why was I sweating so profusely you’d think I were the one sitting at the piano starting the same song for, yes, the sixth time now. This was Sam’s performance, I tried convincing myself. I put down my camera and glared at his teacher though there was nothing she could do. Sam started the song again, but froze at the same spot several more times. His teacher was in the chair nearby anyway. My muscles tensed as if preparing to get up and help. ![]() They didn’t skip a note or simply pause for a second. Then, in the middle of his rock and roll version of Old MacDonald, his hands stopped. He played the first 40 seconds of the song with no problem while I proudly recorded his performance from the first row. The room was full of proud parents and grandparents ready to burst into applause. One by one, they faced the audience, stated the name of the piece they had prepared, then sat at the piano and played. ![]() Students sat in a row ranging from ages seven to 18. I’m talking about the stuff of recurring nightmares some people would have for the rest of their lives froze. ![]() My son, seven at the time, froze at his first piano recital.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |