I am sitting here listening to Angelo struggle through a piece of music and my ears are bleeding.  He used to play it so well, but he hasn't practiced in forever and now the music is no longer in his head.  The pianist in me wants to go show him what to do, or yell, "stop my ears are bleeding".  But the patient teacher in me sits back and makes comments when he asks for them.

This puts me in mind of when my daughter was learning the violin.  Oh those first several weeks of that screeching drove us all mad.  Eeeh Haw  Eeeh Haw, it sounded so much like a sick, braying donkey and all we could do is rub salve on our ears and hope she found the skill.  And boy did she.  She used to play it so well, really feeling the music and enjoying the flow of the melody as it left her fingers.  I would dream of her playing an electric violin at a rock concert (she was not a classical student by far).  Unfortunately she had one teacher that pushed her too hard too fast and Bravard lost interest.  And now she doesn't pick up the instrument at all and I doubt she could manage Mary Had a Little Lamb if her life depended on it. Ah well, you can't live through your children.

So now, Angelo has gone from trying to play Fur Elise to doing scales.  He's found one of the beginner books and is going through it.  With his dialysis and the neuropathic pain that shoots through his limbs, this is a good exercise for him and I wish he would do it every day.  And, although he's still plunking and hitting the wrong keys, at least he's working on his dexterity.  So what if the ears are still bleeding, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make to keep feeling in his fingers.  Now if we could just figure out what to do with his toes....