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Mrs. Holt Hates Britney
Memories of my childhood piano teacher
I used to play piano. Just about nobody would know if I didn’t tell them, though, because my more recent stumbling through beginner’s sheet music has left a lot to be desired.
It’s been about nine years since the piano and I parted ways. Sometimes, I miss it. Most of the time, I’m moving too fast in every direction to notice its absence. There comes a time in most of our lives when hobbies become a luxury.
But just a week ago, I found joy in my complete lack of musical talent. It simply felt good to be doing something because I wanted to. I’d forgotten how good that felt.
For the most part, I don’t even know what I like. I’m still learning what it means to be a woman with the freedom to do as I wish. I have hobbies and interests. I’d forgotten about those things.
I was probably six years old when I started learning to play piano. I had the horizontal Faber books, the kind full of songs of the primer variety, like “Two Black Ants.” A discordant jumble of sound, really, but I didn’t think so at the time. I didn’t think so until my little sister started learning, too, and used the books that I had outgrown.
My piano teacher’s name was Mrs. Holt. She was in her mid-eighties when I started, but I can’t put my finger…
