Piano Lessons

Summary

The text is a personal reflection on the author's experience with piano lessons under the tutelage of Mrs. Reynolds, a significant figure in the author's life during a challenging childhood.

Abstract

The author recounts the profound impact of their piano teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, who provided a sanctuary of music and gentle guidance in a childhood marred by adversity. Mrs. Reynolds, described as a dignified and kind elderly woman, taught the author in her colonial-style home filled with antiques and two baby grand pianos. Over five years, the author developed a deep connection to music and their teacher, finding solace and joy in playing the piano despite personal fears and a difficult home life. The relationship abruptly ended when the author, at age 16, ceased lessons without explanation, a decision possibly linked to the need to protect themselves from a toxic family environment. The author expresses hope that Mrs. Reynolds understood the complex reasons behind the sudden departure and recognized the enduring significance of her role in the author's life.

Opinions

The author holds Mrs. Reynolds in high regard, viewing her as a true friend and a positive influence during their childhood.
Music served as a lifeline for the author, offering a means to connect with their inner self and experience joy amidst a painful childhood.
The author acknowledges their own fear and inability to fully embrace their musical talent due to a debilitating fear of exposure and judgment.
There is an underlying sense of regret and unresolved feelings about the abrupt end to the lessons with Mrs. Reynolds.
The author believes that Mrs. Reynolds may have been aware of the difficult circumstances in the author's life and hoped she recognized the termination of lessons as an act of self-preservation rather than rejection.

A Tribute to Mrs. Reynolds

One of the few true friends of my childhood was my piano teacher. Mrs. Reynolds was probably in her sixties; a tall, gentle, dignified lady who wore her grey hair pulled back in a bun.

She lived in a giant old two-story colonial-style house on some lovely grounds. You would enter the property on a tree-lined lane that led to the house. Inside the house were Oriental rugs and antique furniture pieces, and in her music room were two baby grand pianos.

I often rode my bicycle to my lessons, which gave me time to be by myself and to daydream. It was a long ride; one of my mother’s many attempts at thwarting me in life.

I started the lessons when I was eleven. Mrs. Reynolds was gentle and nonpunitive; and, without forcing it, conveyed her profound love for music. We sat together in that room, for five years, while I did the best I could under the circumstances to develop my musical talent. I had been teaching myself for a long time and was an eager student.

Through all the pain and horror, by playing the piano I could stay connected to what was alive in me. I found the most unspeakable joy in my music; the act of manipulating the keys to produce the sound that moved me in ways indescribable; the long process of sitting with such a loving and gentle teacher, who allowed and encouraged me to be myself.

I was gifted at music, but limited by my debilitating fear of the world and of exhibiting my abilities to the world. When performing, I would always make an error or two, just to keep my mother Emma at bay.

I suspect Mrs. Reynolds knew there was something terribly wrong in my life; and maybe in a sense, she tried to compensate for what I was missing out on at home. After five years with Mrs. Reynolds, suddenly, at age 16, I didn’t want to take lessons any more. I’m not sure why this was, exactly; it certainly wasn’t because of my overly-active social life.

I suspect it had more to do with the fact that my brother had reduced me to such a nonentity that I had to shut myself off from my true self and simply try to survive the next two years encased in a thick fog.

No final lesson, no good-bye, no closure. I just abruptly terminated a five-year relationship with a woman who had given me so much.

I guess the reason I couldn’t face Mrs. Reynolds is that I was having to retreat into a more protected situation in an effort to survive. To have faced the one person who was my connection to my self and my life would have been more than I could bear. Sometimes in order to stay alive, we have to give up the things that are the most precious to us.

My only hope is that Mrs. Reynolds, in her wisdom and perception, understood that what I did was an act of desperation; and I hope she knew what a prominent and life- affirming role she played in my life, then and always.