As I was growing up, there were two groups of people that inspired me the most because of the self-discipline that was required of them to excell: athletes and musicians. Since God did not choose to create or gift me with a single athletic ability worthy of developing, I concluded it would be best that I appreciate the athletic accomplishments of others and focus on the seemingly more realistic goal of becoming a concert pianist.
Unfortunately, my parents couldn't afford music lessons or a piano until I was a teenager, and by then my attention had turned toward other much less admirable adolescent pursuits. Not that I was even gifted with exceptional musical abilities to hone, I simply was no longer enamoured by the disciplined life of an accomplished concert pianist.
Before my teenage decline into laziness and misplaced affections, nothing would thrill me more than a visit to my Aunt Dot's, mother's sweet sister and the proprietor of a piano. Aunt Dot patiently tolerated my endless rounds of "heart and soul" and painful attempts to pick out tunes one wrong note at a time. I thought of my Aunt Dot several times this week when my grandsons were creating "music" on our piano.
Two and half year old Gavin has been making up songs on the piano for months. This week he was joined by his three year old cousin Mason for a spontaneous performance of their short improvisation: "Daddy's Coming Home" and I just happened to have the video on...
