“Mom, look at her leg,” a child who sat in the front row remarked, followed by a short giggle and a loud hush.  I just began my piece on the piano but my right leg started to shake uncontrollably.  It took all my focus to keep my foot steady on the pedal.  My fingers, automaton, managed the piece without me. Thankfully.  Or not.  Those hours of honing into the emotion of the piece were lost.  When the recital ended, I couldn’t bear to get up and face the audience. I remember thinking they deserved better.  The piano deserved better.  The pretty pink dress my mom painstakingly chose for me deserved better.  That was me at the first recital of the year –  the weakest piano player among my elite peers.Read More »