As a little girl, playing the piano was something I had always wanted to do. I could sit and watch other people play the piano all day long. I can remember sitting in church when I was young, and wanting so much to be the church pianist. This essay describes the excitement of taking piano lessons and how the last piano recital made me feel like I had accomplished something wonderful in my life. My mother always knew I wanted to play the piano. One day she came up to me and asked me if I wanted to start taking piano lessons.

I could hardly believe my ears! I was eight years old when I started playing. Finding a piano teacher was somewhat difficult. First of all, we did not know anyone who was giving lessons. After a couple of months, our church pianist announced that she was going to start giving lessons. I was so excited because I loved watching her play the piano. Many parents have to beg their kids to practice; not me.

I loved to practice. It always made me feel good inside just to know what I was accomplishing. After taking lessons for three years, my piano teacher moved to a different state. A couple of weeks went by and I decided to take lessons from another lady.

After one lesson, I decided not to go back to her because it seemed that the whole time she was suppose to be giving me lessons, I was showing her how to play. About two days after that, a friend of mine had suggested that I try her piano teacher; I did and loved her. She was an elderly lady, about sixty-one or two with brownish-gray hair. She was married and lived in a cute house in Van Buren.

She was the church organist at her church, and had been giving lessons for at least ten years. She was godly lady with a tender heart. She reminded me a lot of my grandmother. She was such a wonderful teacher, even better than my first teacher, and definitely better than my third one.

I remember she would give me a piece of music to learn, and I could hardly wait to get home and start practicing it. I never felt like I was bothering my parents with my practicing because they loved to hear me play. My grandma even bought a piano (something she always wanted to do) to put in her home, so when I came to visit, I could play for her. I couldn't believe it, I was actually becoming a great piano player. When I was fifteen years old, I became our church pianist. My piano teacher was so proud, and so was my family.

I was still taking lessons at this time, and it was a good thing I was. Our choir / music director loved picking out beautiful songs for the choir to sing; not only beautiful, but hard also. I would take the piece to my piano teacher and she would show me easy ways to break the music up to learn it. Sometimes she would love the music so much, she would copy it to learn herself. I stayed the church pianist for three years, until I turned eighteen. After getting married when I graduated high school, I moved to New Jersey where my husband was in the Air Force.

All of my piano recitals were held at the church where my teacher attended. It was a big church, immaculate on the inside. There was a huge congregational area and a balcony. They had a gorgeous black, baby grand piano that we played our recitals on. I was eighteen when I had my last recital. I was the last person to play that night.

Ahead of me were approximately twenty-five other students ranging from six to sixteen years in age. I like hearing the little ones play their pieces, because I thought to myself, "Hey, that use to be me!" I played two pieces. My last piece that I played was a beautiful arrangement of It Is Well. It was about six pages long, and probably the hardest piece of music I ever and will ever play. Since I got married, I have not continued taking lessons. I still play every once in a while.

I really miss playing the piano, and while writing this essay, I never knew how much I missed it. After playing the piano for over ten years, I realize that I can do anything that I set my mind to, and it has proven to me that I can accomplish something wonderful.