
When I was 7 years old my mother decided I was going to be a concert pianist. She decided it was time for me to take piano lessons. At first, it was grand fun. She signed me up for piano lessons... and I took piano lessons for 12 years. Not all of those years were fun. In fact, only about the first year was fun.
I took piano from "Sister Hoen" up the street for the first 5 years, and when I was 14, I graduated to Barbara Ellison, of the amazingly resilient Fortrel suits, for the rest of my career. When I was 16, I traded the piano concerto training in on piano teaching training (as long as I promised I wouldn't date "that boy, which wasn't much of a trade, as "that boy" had off-loaded me *sob*).
The hardest thing I ever had to learn was that my mother had truly wasted her dream. I was never going to BE a concert pianist. I wasn't much of a pianist. I was musical, and I had talent, but I didn't share in her dream. That's the real problem. I hadn't embraced the dream with her. Sadly.