Two gifts arrived in my mailbox on my nineteenth birthday. One was from Bob, a childhood friend. The other was from Dan, a friend from high school.

Which box should I open first?

The first one was from Dan. He was stationed in California at the time. We used to talk for hours when he came home on leave. He always made me laugh.

From the box, I pulled out a yellow T-shirt. It was from a city in California. Next, there was a wooden plaque for the wall.

I wondered how Bob’s gift would compare. Bob lived in Massachusetts. I was in Florida at the time. Bob and I talked on the phone every day for a few months. We met when I was in elementary school.

I carefully opened Bob’s gift. I remember lifting the Styrofoam square out of the box. In it was an intricate, small music box in the shape of a baby grand piano.

Bob knew this would be special because I play the piano. Then, I wound up the piano. “We’ve Only Just Begun” by the Carpenters was playing from the small piano. I held it in my hands and cried. Bob’s gift was so sentimental. It was thought out. It was a small piano, and it was special. He knew I would like it.

It’s interesting how those two gifts became a metaphor for our relationships. Bob knew me and offered a gift chosen specifically for me, but Dan picked something generic.

That August, guess where I moved? 

I moved to Massachusetts and never heard from Dan again.

When I was 12 years old my family moved from Massachusetts to Florida. In the cool evenings we opened the windows and heard the most beautiful piano music floating in from the back of the house.

I remember looking out the window to see where the music was coming from. A woman was playing the piano in the house behind ours.

Once we settled in, I started babysitting for families on my street. When I heard the piano lady needed a babysitter for her 7-year-old daughter, I had an idea.

Desperately wanting piano lessons, I asked her if we could trade babysitting services for piano lessons. This is when I started to develop a real interest in piano music. 

There was a problem. We had no room for a piano because our house was too small.

There was a church I attended down the road. I got up the courage to ask if we could trade cleaning services for piano practice time. From then on, I swept the hallway then ran to practice the piano in the sanctuary.

Sadly, after a year of lessons the piano lady moved away.

My next piano teacher was Mrs. Tremper. She wore pretty dresses and was always excited to see me. There was a music room in her house with a piano. Working with her, I developed my chords and scales.

One year, we had a recital at Christmastime. Mrs. Tremper always played the first song. She played  Carol of the Bells. Her playing was majestic. I remember she played the song with lots of octaves. Her hands flew across the piano from the low notes on the left to the high notes on the right. I wanted to play the piano just like her.

I stopped taking lessons at the end of high school but continued playing the piano for years. Then, 30 years later, I decided to take lessons, again. I returned to college after my children were grown. While attending UMass Dartmouth as an English major I took piano lessons from a professor in the music department.

This piano teacher was tough on me and pointed out all my bad habits. It was difficult to adjust to her style of teaching. After countless practice sessions, I developed better technique. Piano lessons became times of musical growth for me.

In my senior year I took a journalism course. We had to interview someone for an assignment, so I interviewed my music professor. She described teaching piano to students as planting seeds. Some seeds grow into strong plants and thrive in the sun. Other seeds fall into the cracks and never grow into a plant at all.

She thought of herself as planting the seeds of music. Some people will grow into strong musicians. The piano teacher’s job is only to plant the seeds.

This reminds me of the Parable of the Sower. Some seeds fall by the wayside. Other seeds yield a crop and grow toward the sun. It is only our job to plant the seeds.

Today, I am grateful for the piano teachers I’ve had. My hands glide onto the keys. I continue to play piano at a local church. Hopefully, I’ve grown into a strong musician.

It all started one day in Florida when the most beautiful piano music floated through the windows of our house. A seed was planted and so began my piano journey.