These Kids Play Mozart Better Than I Could Ever Hope To

Sunday, in the basement of the Methodist church next to Field Park School, a demure crowd (and I) watched 17 children play the piano—really well. Did I mention they were really good?

Our musical journey started many years ago. My daughter started piano lessons at the age of 4, when she resembled an American Girl doll in feature and stature.  Two years later, my son joined in and I had the pleasure of watching a boy the size of a small watermelon play a Prius-sized piano. While they would bang out Mozart, I remember looking around the recital room thinking “what crazy person would sign a baby up for piano lessons.” That crazy person was me.

Suzuki Method piano is more like “Toddlers and Tchaikovsky” than “Toddlers and Tiaras”, but it’s intense nonetheless. The kids play by ear because their eyes can’t process the reading part yet. They furiously fumble at “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” over and over again until their fingers cramp and the listener’s ears bleed.

Their little phalanges do tiny ivory-tickling push-ups. They play scales and learn chords designed to strengthen their digits while rewiring their brains. It’s a sophisticated version of rub-your-belly-pat- your-head, set to Handel (sans Messiah).

As they get older, the budding pianists learn to read music. They learn that the dancing dots on the pages correspond to the keys on the piano; and although music is largely theory, success is about practice. They learn that with the piano being “benched” is not only necessary but good if you like to play. For years they didn’t want to play and practice was a Sisyphean struggle.

As a former flute player, I can’t tell bass clef from kanji, but still I got recruited for practice duty. Frankly, I would rather be eaten alive by a shark than try to muddle my way through a piano lesson again. My attempts ended in me venting ignorant frustration in stunningly creative ways, “If you don’t practice I’ll send you to polka camp to learn the tuba!” Then there was, “Santa told me if you don’t learn your sonata by Sunday, he’ll give your present to a smart kid!” Nice, huh?

In the moments between practices (which gratefully now fall to my husband), I think about their hard work. Before they took lessons I thought Bartok was something one did on a “bar stool” and Schumann was a guy that sold Birkenstocks. Now I realize that while they were learning, I was also picking up a thing or two. Did you know Mozart wrote “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”? Now you do.

(Ed. note: Mozart did not write "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." He did write "Twelve Variations on 'Ah vous dirai-je, Maman,'" which contains variations on the classic tune. Our columnist is still working on her classical knowledge.)