Our Piano Maestro

Some time ago hubby and I decided to enrol Niels for piano lessons. At 8 he's a good age to start, and we were both keen for him to take up a musical interest. We both had piano lessons as kids; hubby for a couple of years and I had lessons from 7 to 17 years of age, and I still love to play today. In fact a few years ago I shipped over the piano I learned on from New Zealand when my Mum shifted houses; she didn't want to keep it any more and it's a nice piano, and I'm quite attached to it. This summer I had the interior mechanism fully refurbished, a costly job but one which will last it for another 25 years or so. Built in 1939, it's a Wilma, originally made in London and now having travelled from the UK to New Zealand and back again by ship before being trucked over to Holland, it's a well travelled instrument!

I digress. While Niels had initially been reasonably open to piano lessons, the day that the teacher rang up to tell us what time to turn up he threw a huge hissy fit and we had our biggest argument EVER. And that's some record, let me tell you. He screamed, and ranted, he wailed, he jumped up and down on the spot, and every door in the house was slammed at least once. We were the worst parents in the world ever, possibly the universe, cruelly re-living our childhoods through torturing our first born son with the agony of a musical education. How Could We???

By the time lesson day rolled around Niels and I had reached an impasse. Waiting on the hard plastic chairs outside the lesson room, Niels stared stonily at the scuffed floorboards of the former church, refusing to speak to me, much less look at me. The minutes ticked by, interrupted only by the faint twanging of a kid getting guitar lessons in some back room. Suddenly the door burst open and the music teacher strode in. Niels face was a picture; having expected a grey haired old lady smelling of mothballs and cat piss, he was so stunned to see a young man with longish hair wearing a black t-shirt that his mouth literally dropped open. Mr Andro introduced himself with a big smile and swept Niels, who by this time had a goofy grin on his face, into the room. I sat through the first lesson amazed as Niels rattled off lists of questions; what do the pedals do? Why has this piano got 3 pedals instead of 2? Could he play rock music? Would he always be his teacher and was he interested in adopting an 8 year old boy?

As we walked back to the car, Niels bouncing like a squirrel that's just downed a can of Red Bull, I couldn't help but smile at the transformation and offer up a silent prayer of thanks to all the Gods that exist for Mr Andro. When Niels got home he raced up to Carl and yelled "It's so cool, my piano teacher is a DUDE!"

He's loved his lessons ever since, is more than keen to play for family and friends, and recently had his first 'recital' together with other students from the music school. Enjoy.