It was always nice to go to my surrogate grandmother’s home where, in the entrance to the parlor stood an antique, red piano. I could never do more that some scales and it was always in the back of my mind that I would learn to play properly one day. I never really got to since she sold that piano and moved away when I was 13. Now, two years after her death, I’ve started to really wonder what would have happened all those years ago if I had begged my mom to let me get piano lessons, instead of just playing scales.
