A tumble changed his future

Piano prodigy tripped by fate

When I turned 8 years old, my mother came into possession of an upright piano, which was promptly wedged into the corner of our small den. My mother did not play, but in her childhood, she and her sister had mastered (improbably) Hawaiian slide guitar, and they had performed throughout their school years at various festivals and special recitals to great acclaim. (Well, that was her story anyway. But I digress). Hoping that at least one of her three children had inherited at least a semblance of her musical acumen — and with no Hawaiian slide guitar teacher available in our small southern town — my older brother, sister and I found ourselves enrolled in weekly piano lessons at the home of one Miss Marple, age unknown (although at the time I would have guessed 102) and demeanor serious. (Apparently learning the piano was not meant to be enjoyable.) Environment? Claustrophobic, with thick drapes, heavy carpet, and a cooper jello-mold collection of impressive depth including a owl, conch shell and a cluster of grapes, all of which hung on her den wall.

Now, I would like to say that I was a child of fairly cool musical depth, and my dream was to master the hit blues song “Drinkin’ Wine, Spo-DeeO-Dee” by Sticks McGhee. But as I am pledged to give the plain facts, the truth of the matter was my dream was to rock out to my favorite tune at the time: “On the Sidewalks of New York,” then popularized by the crooner Nat King Cole. Armed with that ambition, and assisted by Miss Marple’s large metronome, my musical career got off to an impressive start. I loved playing, loved practicing — much to the dismay of my brother and sister, who clearly had other ambitions other than music — and soon it was clear to my teacher she had a potential child prodigy on her hands.

After six months, a recital was planned, and Miss Marple informed me that I would not only do a solo number like all the other performers but also a duet with my older brother, and then close the recital doing a duet with my sister. Soon my mother’s dream would be realized!

The day of the recital, Mom dressed me in a white shirt and clip-on tie. My sister wore a long skirt that reached the floor, and my brother wore his only suit. I was not nervous at all; I knew my public awaited me. I opened with my signature “Sidewalks of New York,” and obviously the crowd was blown away. After a seemingly semierror-free duet with my brother, I escorted my sister to the stage for our closing number. As we climbed the steps, I accidentally stepped on her skirt and went tumbling to the floor on my knees. The audience erupted in laughter as my clipon also came off in the spill.

Despite finishing adequately with my sister, all everyone wanted to talk about after the recital was “the tumble.” Thus evaporated any dreams of achieving child prodigy status. Soon baseball, girls and skateboarding consumed my time, and the piano was forgotten. But hey, I still might give that slide guitar thing a try. But definitely no duets.