Piano Lessons - Cruel and Unusual Punishment?

There is a constitutional ban on cruel and unusual punishment. It's been on the books for years. But for some unexplained reason, only the courts consider the issue of whether or not punishment is unconstitutional, and that means it is not usually applied to young people of elementary school age when they believe they have been wronged. Good thing, too! Otherwise, our court system would have broken down years ago under the weight of kids dragging well- meaning, but basically clueless, parents before hizzoner and suing.

Judge: "Well, Richard, what have they done this time"?
Richard: "This one takes the cake, your Honor Lordship, Sir". They've enrolled me in Mrs. Brock's piano lessons during the period following the fifth grade lunch time".
Judge: "Is that bad"?
Richard: "Your Kingship, my father is the high school football coach. I'm the fifth grade quarterback. I deserve respect. I require respect. And I'm the only boy taking piano lessons".
Judge: "FIENDS"!

Obviously, this conversation did not take place. But if fifth graders could have filed suits, I would have! Democracy was not in place when the decision was made that I would learn to play the piano. There was no vote. No discussion. No chance to express opposition. Things were a bit different in those days. "Because I said so" was all the reason necessary to finalize any parental action. It was a done deal. I WOULD take piano lessons.

In those days, piano lessons were part of the school curriculum. On Thursdays, immediately following lunch, a sweet young lady name Anise Brock would come to the door of Mrs. Hassell's fifth grade classroom, tap lightly, and announce that it was time for Richard to come to his piano lesson. I can still hear the snickering! Boys and girls, but mainly boys, in that somewhat melodic sing-song lilt that every grade-schooler knows how to do instinctively, 'Richard. It time for your pee-ann-oh lesson'. And I would have to stand, exit the room before all of the gleefully staring eyes and follow Mrs. Brock to the piano room. And hour later, I would have to return and face the most forgetful people on earth. They must have been because each of them would ask where I had been.

As the only male member of this group of tortured children, I was sure that my life was over. It could not possibly get worse. But it did.

I found out that at the completion of the year, there would be a recital. Mandatory. Non-elective. You had to wear a tie and not only did I not own one, I had never even put one on. Begging to quit did no good. My father was not big on quitting anything you started. The best deal I could make was that if I didn't want to continue after the year was over, I could become a sixth grade piano dropout.

I couldn't wait!

The first twenty minutes of each lesson was spent in instruction learning notes, new scales, and exercises. The last forty minutes was spent practicing those exercises. I rarely used this time as it was intended. Instead, I was determined that if I had to play in the recital, I would NOT embarrass myself any more than my involuntary presence would shame me. So, after careful research and selection, Mrs. Brock and I agreed on a wonderfully complex (sarcasm intended) piece of music for first year students and I learned to play "The Campbells Are Coming" as competently as Van Cliburn could have played it. Unfortunately, I learned to play NOTHING else. But I can play that piece this very day.

The recital was anticlimactic. No one cared. No friends came...thankfully. I raced through 'the Campbells' at a speed far faster than the composer ever imagined possible. And at the end of the year, it was over.

There is no way to estimate how many times through the years that I've spoken of these experiences and had friends tell me how they regret dropping out of music lessons and asking if I don't have the same regret. I always give the honest answer. Not for a single minute! Would I like some musical training? Yes. Would I enjoy playing some instrument? Certainly. But not at the same time as being a fifth grade quarterback!

Sinatra sang, ‘Regrets, I’ve had a few”. And so do I. And one of my biggest ones was that neither of my younger brothers had to endure the same cruel and unusual experience. Sooner or later, we learn that life isn’t fair!

At least, that's the way I remember it.