A damp memory surfaces. When my brother and I were less than two years old, we managed to climb up on top of the grand piano in my parents' living room and dumped an entire pitcher of water into its innards. The piano had belonged to my mother's father, who died long before we were born. Mothers forgive everything. I started practicing on that piano when I was about seven years old.
Pianos can endure almost anything.
To say that I was no child prodigy would be a vast understatement. Certainly, anyone hearing me that day could have been forgiven for laughing uncontrollably at the suggestion that someday I'd be making my living as a musician. I quit piano lessons soon after that nightmarish recital. Just a few years later, when I fell in love with folk music and the guitar, it was different. They also ask me if they should 'make' their children take lessons when they don't seem to want to.