Musical ambitions

So Grandma and Grandpa were in town briefly last week, and as they drove north, after a night's stay, we bobbed in a lambent wake of baked goods, North Carolina collard greens, gently used infant books, and a couple of awesome new used toys for Cleo. One, as you can see in the following, is a neat little piano that employs wide keys, saturated colors, and sturdy hammers to make itself playable by even the smallest hands:

It's been a ball to watch Cleo play with it. Although her performances never last more than, say, 20 seconds, they add a measure of directness that's not involved when I play guitar near her, or when she depresses a button on one of her battery-operated noise toys. This is, by contrast, the real thing: the strength of the note is a direct function of the force of the finger. And, given that the stainless steel construction means that it never goes out of tune, the result is actually rather listenable.

There's something in many of us, I think it's fair to say, that deeply enjoys the story of the child virtuoso. The toddler Mozart, playing before some Hapsburg emperor, or the young Esperanza Spalding, listening to her mother grow frustrated while trying to master a piece, and walking over to the piano, and playing it perfectly at first effort: such stories seduce, with their promise of natural genius. Today I read of a Russian father who spent considerable sums in hiring tutors in music, and chess, and mathematics (the Russian trifecta!) for a son, and thought, how natural. We imagine uncovered talents to lie in our children like flecks of gold on the floor of a river.

But, honestly, while listening to Cleo pound her piano, I can't say that I've hoped that she turns into a graceful Schroeder. Really. That's not to say that I don't have ambitions for her, but I'm learning that they're both simpler, and more abstract, than a revelation of musical genius. That is, some of them are born of simply observing the small frictions of her current life. I hope that she learns to climb down a step without fear. I hope that she learns that when L. or I leaves the room, we will never be gone for long. And, at the same time, some of them are simply inchoate. I wish her the sense of exhilarating freedom that I once felt, alone, somewhere south of Cicmany.

Sure, it would be stunning to find that one's child possessed a rare and valued talent. (Doubly stunning, really, given my total lack of musical ability). But it's also stunning, in a different way, to realize that one's child - only recently unable to hold her head up - can see a miniature piano, and crawl towards it, and understand that gestures can bring forth notes.