I Know What I Want

I Know What I Want

By Robert W. F. Taylor

I’ll always remember October 11. It was the day I saw the boy I am going to marry when I get older. Now you may think it’s funny that I can be quite so definite about this but it’s not such a problem. See, I am twelve years old already. I’m pretty advanced and mature for my age. At least that’s what my grandfather says – and I believe him. Compared to other twelve-year-old girls, well let’s just say they eat my dust.

Grade six was boring but I guess we learned some cool stuff. Now, in grade seven, I’ve got it aced even though what we are learning seems to be getting more difficult. ‘But,’ I hear you asking, ‘what does that have to do with getting married?’ I suppose you have a point but, see, what I’m doing is called setting the stage so that you will understand where I’m coming from and why I am sure about what and who I want later in life. By the way, I have also decided that I want to be a concert pianist.

Do you think I’ll change my mind after a while? No, I don’t think so. When I make up my mind about something, I make it happen. Let me give you a ‘for instance’. Last month, mom wanted me to start taking ballet lessons. Ballet? Ugh! Prancing around like fairies under a mushroom is not my idea of fun. There’s nothing wrong with it, mind you. It’s just not for me. Unfortunately, mom was sure that it would be good for me. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom and she is usually right about things. Not this time, though. She was way off base. To me, ballet is a waste of time. What I really want to do is to become a concert pianist. Remember, I told you already, huh? Here’s what happened...

The other night, I saw a little Chinese girl on TV. She was about my age and she was playing this huge grand piano. She was spectacular. You could see how happy she was. Her fingers danced back and forth along the keys as she played piece after piece. She was so wonderful and happy that I decided right there and then that this was what I want to be.

“Mom...”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I take piano lessons instead of ballet? Please?”

“I thought you wanted to take ballet?”

“Actually, no, mom. You want me to take ballet because Margie and Josie are taking it and their moms are your friends. I want to learn to play the piano so I can be a concert pianist.”

Mom didn’t say anything for a minute. She was busy getting dinner ready. Then she stopped and looked at me. “Why don’t you take ballet now and piano when you get older, sweetie?”

“I don’t really like ballet. It is boring and it’s not something I want to do. I’d like to start taking piano lessons and if I want to be a concert pianist, I need to start right away. Can I, please, mom?”

“Well, I don’t know, Jenny. Let’s talk it over with your father when he comes home, okay?”

“Okay, mom.” I knew right then that I was going to win this one. My dad is a big softie and like most girls my age, I am 'daddy’s little girl’, right? Uh-huh.

Needless to say, I got my way. My mom enrolled me in piano lessons and I started the next week. Wow! I thought ballet was boring. Ugh! Playing piano was much worse! Playing scales hour after hour was like, ten times as boring. But then I got a picture in my mind of the little Chinese girl and how happy she had been playing the piano. I suppose she would have started the same way – playing scales for hours. I remember how the audience gave her a standing ovation and how she smiled at them. I knew that if I was going to be anywhere nearly as good as she was, I’d have to practice and practice and practice.

“Are you getting bored playing scales yet, Jenny?” asked my piano teacher.

“Yes, I am, Mr. Phillips. But I know I have to learn these first, right?”

“Yes, you do. You have to learn all about the piano; the sounds each key makes; the difference between the white and black keys; octaves; and how we represent each note on paper. Are you learning any of this in school?”

“No. Not yet, Mr. Phillips. Maybe later.” Mr. Phillips was a good teacher. He knew I was just starting.

“Let’s take a break from scales and try a simple tune, alright?”

“I’m ready, Mr. Philips.” Like, anything was going to be better than scales, huh? So then he showed me how to play ‘chopsticks’. It wasn’t like, a cool tune or anything, but I picked it up quite easily. He sat down on the piano stool next to me and we played a ‘chopsticks’ duet...that means two people, and we played it together. It was fun and it showed me how I could make music by using the scales I was learning.

“Jenny, from what I hear, you seem to have an ear for music and that is the first key to becoming a good pianist.”

“What’s after that, Mr. Philips?”

“Learning to read music is a big one. Then being able to transfer what you read into your fingers and onto the piano keys. Another one is getting your left and right hand working independently.”

“Gee, that sounds like a lot to learn!”

“The more you practice, Jenny, the easier it will become and the better you will get. You can apply the same rule to all of your studies in school as well.”

I thought about that and I could see that he was right. I decided then and there that when I got home, I would get my homework done and make sure I paid more attention to the teachers after that. I wanted to be as good as I possibly could be. That’s just me. It’s the way I am. Not like some ‘boys’ in class I could mention. All they want to do is bash their heads together playing football.

Then, I saw him. My lesson was over for the day and the next student had come in. He was maybe a year older than I was.

“See you on Thursday, Jenny. Hi, Mark. Ready for your lesson?”

Mark smiled at Mr. Phillips. “I sure am, sir.” Then he turned and gave me a big smile. “Hi, I’m Mark.”

“Jenny,” I said. “I’ve seen you in school, right?”

“Probably. I’m in grade eight. Do you have a piano at home?

“No. Not yet. I think my parents want to be sure I will like playing the piano before they spend the money for a piano. They’re pretty expensive, I guess.”

“We have one at home. I’ve been taking lessons now for three years and I really like it. You should talk to your parents and get them to buy a piano. You need to be able to practice at home. That will help you learn to play the piano much faster. An hour twice a week is not enough if you want to be good.”

“I do. I want to be a concert pianist.”

“Well then, a piano at home is a must. See you!” Mark turned and sat down at the piano and did a quick run through the scales, then right into some Beethoven. I was impressed and I knew right then that he was the one for me.

He was so good-looking (for a thirteen-year-old, I mean) and he could play the piano.

I had to impress him somehow so he would remember me in school and I knew how I would do it. I would practice and practice until I could play the piano really well. Maybe we could practice together sometimes after school if we didn’t have piano lessons.

When my father picked me up, after my lesson, I asked him, “Daddy, can we buy a piano? Please?”

1386 Words

©Robert W. F. Taylor