Unexpected consequences of early life experiences

It’s funny how one’s early life experiences can eventually lead to unexpected consequences.

When my older sister and I were kids, she usually took the lead in extra-curricular activities. When Lori started her piano lessons, I was 6 at the time and didn’t want her to be able to do something I couldn’t. So naturally, I put in my request for lessons as well. She also took ballet, but my macho father drew the line on that one.

Our folks didn’t have a lot of money, and what they did have was put away for our future educations. Mom was frugal and practical. Buying a new spinet piano was out of the question. So she checked the classifieds and came up with a turn-of-the-century upright instrument for $20 (about $200 in today’s inflated dollars).

It was in pretty sad shape. The piano had not been tuned in many years. The former owner’s kids used to jump off of the keyboard and pick the ivory off the keys. The wooden exterior finish was shot, and there were about eight notes that didn’t work.

My father was able to fix four of them, but the rest were beyond repair. Fortunately, they were located in a higher octave range.

“What are we supposed to do with this thing?” My sister asked.

“Don’t worry,” Mom replied. “We’re going to fix it up.”

Immediately, the work began. Mom stripped off what was left of the finish and restained the beautiful mahogany wood. Dad stripped all the keys and replaced them with new ivory-like plastic coverings.

“But what about the insides?” I inquired.

“When you get good at piano, then we’ll buy something better,” Mom rationalized.

But how could we get good on something way out-oftune, had worn action, pedals that didn’t work and keys that failed to function? It was like telling us to get good at racing a Ford Pinto running on three cylinders and someday, we’ll buy you a dragster!

But that’s the way it was, and we had to make the best of it.

Our teacher lived nearby, and quite frankly, I hated those lessons. John Thompson beginning piano books were pretty boring — and practicing those scales 20 minutes per day was worse torture for a kid than being waterboarded.

After two years, I gave it up and only touched the old piano for an occasional made-up tune in the key of “C” or an unrequested concert for my family with a rendition of “Chopsticks.”

Years later when I got to college, I decided to major in music. Was it those early days on the old piano that directed me? Perhaps. But this time, things were much more complicated. I still did not end up a great artist, but I learned a whole new way of playing via music theory.

I would never become a concert pianist, but I certainly could get by as a lounge lizard with popular tunes from the 1930s and ‘40s. That didn’t make my classical professors happy, but it did bring personal enjoyment.

So what’s the point of this old piano tale? That piece of junk probably saved my life. I was in college during the mid-1960s when the government was grabbing as many young males as possible for the Vietnam War. All voluntary services were filled and not taking new recruits. It was only draft time for “ground-pounders” in the Army and Marines.

But as fate would have it, my piano professor was a captain in the National Guard and got me in — as long as I promised to go to officer candidate school upon graduation. This bought me extra time where I could serve in the Guard and still pursue my education for the next several months.

While I eventually did end up in the regular military, the additional schooling eventually provided better opportunities for a more rewarding experience in Army Civil Affairs.

Now I hope you get my point. One can never predict how an old beat-up piano, or any other early life experience for that matter, can change one’s entire destiny at a much later point in time.