A Story About Our Friends, a Piano, and Their Daughter

A moment from Sunday that you know needs to be shared. The gravity of this moment doesn’t hit you immediately, but after you see your piano the next morning and recollect on your conversation with your friend, all you can do is smile. And then because it’s time for school and you can’t see this memory all the way through but then one of your kids at breakfast spontaneously mentions how much Kelsey (I’ve changed the name for privacy) loved playing the piano, you have the chance. You explain to your kids that in talking to your friends—Kelsey’s parents—they are now considering buying the piano keyboard we have. Why? They ask. And this is it—you have the opportunity to brag on behalf of the moral goodness of your friends and simultaneously teach a lesson to your kids about how as humans we are all vulnerable but capable of greatness at the same time.

This is the memory. We hadn’t seen our friends for a while; like so many families with multiple young, school-age and athletic kids, schedules become a moving chess board and dates become a king impossible to catch. So, we improvised and opted for a casual Sunday afternoon and as easy and early dinner of takeout. As it turned out, this timing worked well for both the seven combined kids and the four combined adults—we all had good conversations and energy. Kelsey’s mom and I had a chance to talk about life but also about her concern for Kelsey’s reading. And so we went into our playroom (converted from a traditional dining room) where I showed her a beloved Word Pop game that I thought might resonate well with Kelsey. I showed her the alphabet chart strategically placed close by to the table where the kids write. Just before leaving the room, she pointed out that she loved our piano keyboard and we talked a little about how my youngest loves to play.

From there, we exited the playroom and walked a few steps into where our husbands were chatting about futsal and debating the pros and cons to two very different Bahamas vacation spots. Immediately, my mind shifted from teacher-mode and childhood development back into the adult world. That is, until just a few minutes later, when we began hearing small fingers on the piano from the playroom. Chris peeked in and said he saw Kelsey alone in front of the keyboard but looking happy as can be at the tactile and auditory feedback from the keys. While she experimented with playing, us adults returned to our own conversation which by now had progressed to the very important topic of which property had a better kids club.

The doorbell then rang and I got up to retrieve our food delivery. After grabbing both bags, I closed the door and found my eyes wide open as I saw Kelsey, still sitting in front of the keyboard. The same child described to me as having a relatively short attention span, had been transfixed for almost a half-hour. And quantitative minutes aside, her true interest and engagement were as transparent as a Bill Belichick midlife crisis—it looked as if Kelsey had discovered magic.

I told Kelsey how happy I was to see that she liked the piano, and as I had before, l left the playroom to enter another world of the kitchen and setting up dinner for the eleven of us. We had a delicious meal (of course, to me, almost any meal that I didn’t have to make is delicious) and we had only one entirely spilled plate throughout the dinner. Quinn’s sequin pants are just a bit too long and man do those sequins slide like ice skates on our wooden floor. Other than that, and the casualty of a cracked basement television screen from a football wound, the night in my eyes was a success. But just as the kids began to pack up, the night got even better. The moment.

When looking to round up his youngest, Kelsey’s dad found her back in front of the keyboard. ‘Where did you guys get that one?” he asked as soon as he came back in the kitchen with Kelsey. I explained where, and he continued, “Okay, we may have to get her one. We are really looking for some good outlets for how to, you know, make her feel proud of herself and good at something.” And he didn’t need to say anymore. I knew exactly to what he was referring from our conversations throughout the years; that some things come easily to some and harder for others. And especially as a twin, making Kelsey feel confident in one of her own special areas and apart from her competitive brother could prove to be invaluable.

Kelsey’s dad doesn’t know this, but I had read an article earlier that day which could have intertwined his sentiment into a Ted Talk. I read an article in the Atlantic called “The Wrong Way to Motivate Your Kid” which introduced a brand new concept me: “islands of competence.” This term was coined over forty years ago to plead the case that “every child, no matter their challenges, possesses distinct areas of ability, and that is the educators’ and parents’ job to nurture and celebrate those gifts—not merely as a feel-good exercise but as a crucial foundation for growth.” The article highlights that it is human nature to be more courageous and confident when we are good at things, and when people feel confident in any one thing (whether that be music or academics or sports), then they will be better able to persevere in their lives.

I wished I’d had time to so strongly reinforce Kelsey’s dad’s thoughts on trying something new for her, but It was late; the boys’ faces looked tired and flushed from jumping on our Covid-crisis indoor bouncy house too long and I was even beginning to lose Chris, who you could tell was mentally packing for his company offsite retreat the next day to, well, the Bahamas. But I will send the Atlantic article to Kelsey’s dad and maybe even follow-up with our friends by texting a link to the keyboard. They deserve to have their thinking about Kelsey rewarded, and Kelsey deserves the chance to try something new that feels more interesting and exciting than what sounds like some of the more academic areas. I thanked our friends for coming before saying goodbye, and in my mind right now, I’m thanking them for letting me have something so valuable to write about. And I thank them for giving me such a nice, real-life example as to why our friends my buy the same keyboard—not to keep up, compete, or have something to show grandparents; simply the fact that just one area of competence could change the entire path of what their child’s life could look like.