Stories From Under A Bootheel (Rants, Laughs, and Tears)

Chapter 1 Did You Learn Anything Part 3 Love of Learning

"Stop banging on the piano!" My dad would holler from the couch in the front room where he was sleeping off his Saturday morning drunk in front of the baseball game on the television.

I was at my mother's old upright piano. The veneer was cracked and peeling. The ivory was missing off most of the keys, but that made it easy to find middle-C which had a small piece of ivory uniquely still hanging on to one corner. The piano had not been tuned since before the war. World War II I think, but perhaps the Civil War. I was in the back of the house in my sister's room and I was not banging on it. I was trying to teach myself to play. Our house was small so no matter how softly I played, it still disturbed my dad.

My mother could play but rarely did. My sister had taken lessons and had gotten as far as Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto. I loved to hear her play it, but like my mother she rarely played. I don't think she enjoyed it.

I would have loved to have taken piano lessons, but by the time my parents thought I was old enough, my father had lost his construction business and we could not afford it. My mother taught me to read music, some basic scales and even a beginner's version of March Slav. I loved the march like rhythm of the D-minor chord I could pound out with my left hand while my right picked out the slow Slavic melody one note at a time. It did not require a lot of dexterity.

 When my father lost his business, my mother went back to college at Arkansas State to finish her degree and get a teaching certificate so she could get a job teaching elementary school. She only needed about a year of courses. As a girl, she had attended Columbia University in Missouri and Northwestern University in Illinois. With dreams of becoming an actress, she mainly took drama classes. She had to drop out when the financial depression of the thirties made it too expensive. Before she married my father, she worked for the local newspaper writing obits, society page articles, and other local news, but I think she always saw herself as an actress. I remember she took every opportunity she could get to do public readings for church, PTA, and women's club activities. Her students would always tell me how much they enjoyed it when she would read a story to the class. She would change her voice and expressions to fit each character in the story. She was an only child; so, I think she was used to being the center of attention.

 I sometimes feel like my mother was acting her entire life. Her interactions with others always seemed so pretentious to me. She was always proper, saying the right thing, and showing caring toward others. The cynic in me found it hard to believe anyone could be that good, which probably says more about me than her. Everyone assured me she was a model of genuine goodness. She certainly was the perfect mother to me. Although I think she identified with my sister more.

My sister and I were often polar opposites. I inherited my father's analytical mind and joy in teasing others. My sister inherited my mother's social consciousness and skills in dealing with others. She was usually proper – at least around adults. She graduated valedictorian. I never cared about being proper or making good grades. In my defense my mother would say I was her "creative" child - probably because I created problems for her.

Both my sister and I were successful in our own ways depending on how you measure success. I've always felt the truest measure of success was not how much wealth or fame or awards one accumulated, but rather by the role one played in the lives of their family and friends. I have been fortunate to have been blessed with many incredible friends, many of whom I will introduce you to in this memoir.

I know now, my sister was similarly blessed. Although my sister never had children of her own, my own children benefitted greatly from her presence in their lives. When we went back east for my sister's memorial service, and I met many of her friends, I realized how rich and successful her life had truly been to have had such dear and caring friends. Although there were senators and congressmen at the memorial service, none would mean as much to me as her extended family Virginia, Jack, Linda, Polly, Marilyn, Dotti, Rim and of course many others who all made a difficult time more bearable. Should any of you read this, know I will always consider you family. Although, after reading this memoir, you may not want to claim me?

Once my mother started teaching school, she no longer had time to give me music lessons; so, I would spend my time on the piano playing chop sticks, March Slav, Heart and Soul, and crap I would make up which was usually when my dad would begin hollering.

I've always loved piano both listening and playing. As an adult, I did eventually teach myself enough to play Claire De Lune, but I never got very good. I now have Dupuytren's contracture which limits the mobility of two of my fingers and thus my ability to play. Crap happens.

I guess the lesson I learned from all of this is that the things you enjoy the most are not things you are forced to learn, but the things you teach yourself. I was forced to learn Latin, baseball, working on lawn mowers, and how to deal with idiots. I taught myself physics, calculus, history, geography, tennis, cooking and music. I still hate all the former and love all the latter. Of course, the key to loving anything is to find the fun in it.

Ideally, we should all just get to do what we enjoy, but as you know, crap happens..