Today my lovely, inquisitive, wonderful daughter began piano lessons.
I went in with her to meet her instructor and told her to let me know when she was confortable enough for me to wait in another room. Consequently, I stayed for her entire first lesson. Not surprisingly, I discovered that I really didn't like to be in the room when someone else was teaching her. I'm her mother, and it's much too tempting to correct her when I know I should stay silent. I managed to do alright, however.
Hannah was instructed to sit on the bench at the middle of the piano. Her teacher told her she could tell where the middle of the piano, and particularly the Middle C, was by the word (which is the name brand of the piano) written just above the keys.
And does my inquisitive, partially-OCD daughter take her teacher's word for it?
No, she does not.
Instead, she reaches to both ends of the piano and, OCD-like, puts her fingers on the keys one-by-one until they meet in the middle. And what does she discover? That the WORD above the keys is not in the exact middle. And she informs her teacher of this error. Her teacher looks at me, surprised but smiling, and says that "she never thought to count before to be sure".
Of course, if one wants to be technical, the exact middle of the piano keys falls RIGHT IN THE CRACK. I'm sure when she figures this out, she'll inform her teacher of this as well.
Next week I'm sitting in the waiting room. Even though my daughter already told me she was ready for it, I'm pretty sure that's where I would have been. And I really don't want to know how many things she thinks she needs to inform her teacher from now on.
Unless, of course, her teacher chooses to inform me.