Mom insisted I take piano lessons. I was her only daughter after five boys, And perhaps she thought I needed some Refinement. I still remember Miss Merling who scolded me For not practicing, who cut my fingernails when They were too long, and assigned pieces for The dreaded recitals when my trembling Foot kept sliding off the pedal. At fourteen I was allowed to stop, not Becoming the accomplished pianist my mom Must have dreamed of, but at least I Could play hymns. As I filled in at another nursing home today, I Played one familiar hymn after another. I needed only to begin a tune and the Aged ones joined in. They were compassionate when I hit some Wrong notes, unlike Miss Merling. They just sweetly smiled at me. I stood up between songs and told them, "I feel sorry for the young folks. When they get old they won't know the Hymns. What will they sing?" The white heads nodded in agreement, and We sang on. It was like an old singspiration as the Residents called out favorites for us to sing. They all clapped when the music was over. The words and melodies followed me all The way home. I wish I could pick up the phone and tell her, "Thanks, Mom, the lessons paid off." |
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Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
December 2020
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