An Ordinary Extravagance - thoughts on music lessons and other useless gifts we give to our kids

 "She did ... regret the inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood—and sat down and practiced vigorously an hour and a half. "

Emma by Jane Austen

What I have achieved by industry and practice, anyone else with tolerable natural gift and ability can also achieve.

J. S. Bach

From age 9 to 16, I rode my bike, walked, or was driven to Mrs. Hoenecke's small blue rambler on Elm Street for a half hour piano lesson. Seven years my finacially-strapped parents paid for these lessons, and would have done so longer except that I asked to stop. Why did they do it? I was never going to perform, thanks to a hefty dose of stage fright and a willingness to settle at a respectable albeit mediocre level of proficiency. I wasn't going to study it at college or make money from teaching piano. I wasn't even going to be able to use it in a band or with hymn singing at church (stage fright again). In no way practical way whatsoever was my learning the piano a good investment or a wise use of my parents' limited resources. 

Except that it was, and here are a few reasons why:

Because I loved it. I loved the piano, the sound of it and the feel of playing. I loved learning to read music, learning songs, practicing those songs, playing them to the delight of my parents. I loved everything about it, immensely and intensely, even the struggle to learn.

I still love to play when I can, and amazingly, though hampered by years of bad habits and little practicing, I can still kind of sort of actually play. The ability if not the skill stayed with me. And I know if I put the time in, the skill would return.

I believe I appreciate music more than I might have if I didn't understand somewhat the work that goes into playing well. And hearing a talented musician still brings up a longing to play better myself, just like when I was a kid. 

Sometimes things are better expressed through music. When a dear friend was blindsided by tragedy a few years ago, I ended up again and again at the piano, playing 'Abide With Me' as I cried and prayed for her. That hymn expressed all I wanted to say to God and playing it allowed me to sing with my spirit. The hymn became a prayer, and the notes were played “with groanings to deep to be uttered.”

Hearing me play occasionally through the years led my oldest to learn to play, and her skills now exceed my own, which is a pleasure I never expected to enjoy. No one said that seeing your kids pass you by in talent would be one of the highlights of parenting. I don't know that I would have believed it if they had. Who enjoys being shown up? But I remember my parents listening with pleasure when I played and marveling that I could read music and play with both hands at the same time, and even sometimes play songs by ear - now I am the parent marveling at this wonderful talent in my daughter. It feels good to be on the other side, enjoying and cheering on.

Each time I sit down at the piano bench to play music, I open all over again that ordinary extravagant gift of 7 years from my parents. Why did they do it? For love, of course. Their love for me encouraged my love for an art form I would never become proficient in, but that I would never stop loving. Their gift has only enriched my life and the life of my family. It has no value to anyone, as the world tends to define value: practical, monetary, quantifiable. In fact, it is absolutely useless to the world. 

It reminds me of a scene in Les Miserables. In chapter VI of the first book, “Fantine,” we are shown the life and habits of “the Good Bishop,” Bishop Myriel. Hugo writes:

'The garden…was laid out with four walks… There was another walk round the garden, along the white wall which enclosed it. These walks left four square plats... In three of them Madame Magloire cultivated vegetables; in the fourth the bishop had planted flowers, and here and there were a few fruit trees. Madame Magloire once said to him with a kind of gentle reproach: “Monseigneur, you are always anxious to make everything useful, but yet here is a plat that is of no use. It would be much better to have salads there than bouquets.” “Madame Magloire," retorted the Bishop, "you are mistaken. The beautiful is as useful as the useful." He added after a pause, "More so, perhaps.”'

The final aim and reason of all music is nothing other than the glorification of God and the refreshment of the spirit.

J.S. Bach