My Beloved Piano - A Trusted Friend (written in 2016)

Excuse me while I get sentimental for a moment. As long as I can remember, my family's Bradbury piano has been a part of my life. I found a picture today of my brother's 4th birthday in 1966 (the year I was born) and in the background was our piano. My earliest memory of this special instrument is from about age 2. Mom would give Kirk and me a penny each and let us walk next door to the little country store so we could buy a sleeve of Smarties candy. We would take our little treasure back home and Kirk would pull out the piano bench. We would kneel at the bench and sort out our Smarties, pretending they were medicine and we were counting them like our Uncle Rena did in his pharmacy. 
I cannot remember a time when our piano was not used - it seems as though it was played every day for many years. Dad would sit down and chord his way through, "Jesus, Hold My Hand," and Mom would serenade me to sleep at night while practicing her Czerny School of Velocity exercises. Many days Kirk and I would sit at the piano and pretend to play while singing our favorite childhood songs (Though I'm Just a Tiny Tot; Stop and Let Me Tell You). When I was about 5, Mom began teaching me to recognize the piano keys and started showing me how to read music. I was entranced! I would sit for hours looking at music, figuring out how to read it, and how to plunk out the melodies with my right hand. How I wanted to learn to play piano!

As we got older, Mom and Dad would gather us around the piano. Mom would play and sing soprano, Dad would sing tenor, Kirk tried his best on bass, and I attempted to learn the alto line, as we sang, "I Will Meet You in the Morning." Those were happy days, and the musical impressions they made on me were deep and lasting.

When I was 9 I finally was able to take piano lessons, and from then on, our Bradbury piano was MINE. I played every day (ok - not EVERY day, as my piano teachers can testify), but I played more days than I did not. Kirk learned to play piano, too, but he was more successful with playing by ear, while I took the more classical route. When Close Encounters of the Third Kind came out in 1977 our family made a trip to see it in the theater. Kirk could hardly wait to get home so he could sound out the tones of the spaceship's call on the piano. I was amazed - how could he figure that out? I vowed to develop my musical ear so that I could play the piano without music, too! Over the years I worked very hard on our family piano to figure out melodies and learn to play using chords.

The family piano was a source of happiness, but also created a certain amount of anxiety and tears for me through the years. Difficult passages in my piano pieces (i.e. Sleigh Ride, which I still cannot play to this day) were rehearsed over and over, sometimes with no positive result. I spent many hours at the piano rehearsing voice lessons, learning songs for church, and even attempting to compose my own pieces. I worked diligently on theory assignments during high school, and played around with all the new sounds I was learning about in class. Perhaps the hardest times at the piano, and the times I felt most connected to my instrument, were the days and nights when Dad would train me in accompanying a soloist. The piano keys were soaked with tears on many occasions. But, those trials and tears and frustrations have made me the accompanist I am today. No more anxieties - I can follow just about anyone and handle any unexpected twist the performer might take with the music.

In high school, my piano became my personal therapist. When I was angry, or sad, or pensive, I would sit with my piano, and allow its soothing tones to wash over my heart, and calm my spirit. I came to treasure those times, and to take comfort in the always present instrument. Often, I would reach out and caress my friend, or play a few notes as I walked by. My piano was my friend, my confidant, and my safe haven.

My old Bradbury piano holds 50 years of memories for me. It connects me to Mom and Dad with ties as strong as the strings attached to its keys. The hammers and dampers, the pedal, the keys, the frame all remind me of sweet and special times with both of my parents. It was at that piano bench that my love of music took root, was watered, and blossomed into a lifelong relationship.

For the past 30 years, since I left home, my piano has stayed with my mom. First in Kansas City, then in her home in Hillsboro, I still played it every time I came "home." Heather played her first notes on that piano, as did Aaron. Kirk and I would sit down and play our old duets together at Christmas time. I would pull out my old music when I came home and play for hours, relishing in the reconnection with my old friend.

When Mom and Dad moved to their apartment in 2008 we made the decision to let the family piano be enjoyed by Heather. It was already worn out, out of tune, and showing signs of age. But, the action was still good, and it still felt comforting to sit down and caress the keys. For the last 8 years, Heather has enjoyed having our family piano in her home, and I have enjoyed seeing it when I go there, knowing it is still providing pleasure for another pianist.

Today, I said goodbye to my old piano as I've always known it. We've known for some time that when Heather found a piano in better shape, we would let the Bradbury rest and repurpose it into several heirlooms that our family can enjoy for 50 more years. Today was that day. I did not expect to have such an emotional reaction to the dismantling of my faithful friend. But there I sat, in the truck on the way to Heather's house, bawling my eyes out. I could hear Dad playing with his sing-song chords, I could hear Mom practicing her scales, I could see myself with all my lesson books spread out in front of me, and I could feel the anticipation Kirk had the day he sounded those eery tones - "Re Mi Do Do So." I felt again the longing to sit at my piano and play my cares away. I longed to practice with Dad just one more time - promising myself that I wouldn't let my frustration with his rubato style move me to tears. I wanted to fall asleep just one more time to the soothing sounds of Mom playing on the other side of the wall of my bedroom. And just once, I wanted to sing again with the strong tones from my piano accompanying me.

But...I couldn't do those things. So, I dried my tears and did what had to be done, and I said goodbye to my piano, but not to the memories it holds. And now, when I look at the shelf, or table, or wall hanging that is made out of its pieces, I'll remember that though the family piano is no longer playable, its song lives on in each of us, and we are richer for having it in our lives all these years.

My 1:1000

You just don't know how your life will impact others. She started her teaching career in 1973, a career that would span 45 years. During that almost half a century of teaching, she probably had 1,000 or more students. Who was I, a little girl in her 2nd class ever, a little girl in the 3rd grade, to think that I would be 1:1000? Who was I to think that she might remember me 10, 20, even 44 years later?

I was in awe of her. I can't tell you exactly why, but she became my favorite teacher, the one whose name I always use when asked that "secret" question. Maybe it was because she was beautiful and I was drawn to her loving and kind face. Maybe it was because her husband would come visit and I thought he was so handsome. Maybe it was because she inspired me to be better, to strive for excellence. Perhaps the times she allowed me to "help" her by grading spelling tests or marking papers, influenced me to teach someday, or maybe it just made me feel connected to her. Perhaps it was the way she handled the death of our classmate, Bobbi's, mother, gently explaining to us what Bobbi might be like when she came back, how we might most help her, and assuring us that we did not need to be afraid.

I don't know if she remembers any of this. If she does, I'm in awe again. If she remembers the details from her 1974-75 class like I do, then she is truly the special teacher I thought she was then, and still admire today. But, I know she doesn't remember this - because I never told her. I took her school picture and placed it in my little wallet where I could see it any time I wanted. You see, in the Spring of 1975, my world was changing. My father was contemplating taking another pastorate and moving our family out of Kansas City. My brother and I were not happy; we were scared. We did not want to leave our home, our school, and our friends. I kept her picture close because I believed then, as I do now, that she really loved me and that she wanted the best for me. During the summer after 3rd grade, as we waited in a cabin in Colorado for the decision of a new congregation, I pulled out her picture over and over, and I cried because I would never have another chance to see her again (or so I thought). I cried because the teacher who had made the most impact on my life to that point was now a piece of my history. But, her smiling face was there comforting me, even as I moved. She became the standard by which every other teacher in my life was measured. No one ever quite reached her place in my heart, and she remains to this day, my favorite teacher.

Why today? Because what grade school teacher do you know, in a large city, with many other children to love and pour into, shows up at your wedding 10 years later? And of all the people who attended our celebration that day, who should the photographer get a candid picture of going through the food line but her? A memory seared in my heart forever. She still cared; she still wanted the best for me. Her belief in me never wavered, even though I was only 1:1000.

The miracle of Facebook is that after all these years, I can still see her smiling face. I can still visit with her - or not - and that's ok. She remains a constant in my life, and she probably never even knew that she was my constant in the first place. I still have that little school picture of her. It no longer sits in my wallet or hangs on my bulletin board as it did when I was growing up, but it's always where I can find it. And it always reminds me that you never know how your life will impact others.

Live well. Invest in children. Give freely of your love and patience and guidance. Who knows who is watching you and gaining strength from you? Who knows whose life you will impact? Thank you, Sheila Cohenour - you are my 1:1000.