My favorite hiding place is music. Unknown.
I started taking piano lessons sometime during elementary school, though the exact year escapes me. I recall learning finger placements, scales, and, of course, how to read music. I had truly wonderful piano teachers who were both encouraging and straightforward. Practice was not just necessary but absolutely required. Whoa, the child who showed up unprepared! I took seriously the idea of practicing every day and it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized what an undertaking that was…not for me, but for my family!
I have a feeling that my personal practice policy was not a directive from either of my teachers but more a process of self-flagellation that I created all on my own. It went something like this, miss a note…start over…from the beginning. Repeat. This may not sound like a horrible methodology, but when you’re a child and prone to mistakes, practice sessions could go on…and on…and on.
My mom had this one joke that she liked to tell over and over. It was probably extra funny because it went right over my head. She would say, “Can you play far, far away?” I naively thought that was the name of a song rather than a location. I’m certain she made this joke for years before I finally got it. Did I mention that our piano was in the living room?
And all that long lead-up to get to another one of my favorite Christmas gifts—my Casio keyboard. Oh, how I wanted a keyboard! Oh, how I loved that keyboard! Oh, how wild it is that 37 years later I still have that keyboard AND IT STILL WORKS!
The keyboard was a gift when I was 12 years old. I wanted a keyboard so bad…think Ralphie and the Red Ryder BB Gun. I would hint about it, talk about it, scheme about it, write about it, and I would lay out my case about why this would be such a good Christmas present. And then on Christmas…I got it!
I certainly didn’t deserve a Casio keyboard. I can play piano but I am no virtuoso. Our family budget didn’t warrant it, not by a long shot. Undoubtedly, I probably wasn’t extra good or anything like that. That’s one of the most remarkable lessons about love, sometimes we get what we don’t deserve (good or bad).
I found out later that my mom and dad bought the last keyboard in the store. It was the demo keyboard on the shelf. Mom said they almost didn’t sell it to her. Yet, she persisted. There was no stand, no box, just the keyboard, and the plug-in adapter. Since it was opened she was cautioned that the purchase was “as is,” no refunds. I should tell Casio just what a quality product they made back in the 1980s.
I don’t have to tell you I was the happiest kid in the whole world that Christmas. Oh, I had big plans. I was going to practice more than ever, I was going to be able to play everything from classical to pop music, I was going to write songs like Debbie Gibson…. Then my mom told me, “You know there’s a little plug-in on the back so you can play with headphones…in your room.”
I guess that counts as far, far away.
GIFTED is a three-part series about the best Christmas gifts I received in childhood. Take a walk with me down memory lane as I unwrap the magic of Christmases past.
As you can imagine, after more than a decade of “contributions” amassed from school AND church, we now have quite a collection going. Add to it EVERY ornament we have ever received from relatives, friends, plus our church family, and it amounts to 7 boxes of Christmas knickknack goodies. Every year the tree is quite full (this may be an important factor when you consider the number of times the tree has fallen over the years,) but I wouldn’t have it any other way. The Spencer Family Christmas tree is full of as many stories and memories as it is ornaments. This year the kids asked me if we really had to hang every last trinket from the boxes. I guess they thought that maybe the “bead ornament” (there really is no other name for it since it resembles absolutely NOTHING ever known to man) and the “paper Jesus candy cane” may have seen better days. “If there’s room on the tree, then there’s room for it,” was my constant reply. And while I think the “all-things, everything” kind of Christmas tree has roots in my husband’s Christmas tradition, he is the one who announces every year that “it looks like Christmas threw up in here!” At least he says it with a smile.
Our tree is still up (it’s New Year’s Day,) it’s leaning to the side as is its custom during the 12 Days of Christmas, and the ornaments are taking themselves down (with a mini thud!) The Christmas “spew” extends well beyond the tree to the fireplace mantel, hearth, the piano and into the dining room, and it will…for at least another week. Yes, it STILL looks like Christmas in here and everywhere we go…even if it’s the regurgitated type. Falalalala Lalalala!
hymningandhaing 