The Student Becomes the Master

I took E to her weekly piano lesson this morning. E’s new piano teacher moved to Florida from Montréal, which means she is bilingual. E loves listening to her sing in French.

When we arrived, the piano teacher had pulled out a French book she herself used as a child. E was delighted to be using a book written in another language. Her teacher showed her how she would receive grades on each lesson. “This must not have been a good day for me. I only received an 80% on this lesson.”

Well, E could not accept that at all. She played the song flawlessly. She then took out her pencil and wrote 100% on the page beneath her teacher’s 80%.

I was mortified that E decided to mark up a book that her piano teacher had carried with her for over 50 years. E is not quite mature enough to appreciate objects having sentimental value. I apologized over and over.

“It’s quite all right,” her piano teacher said. “I rather like the idea that I taught this piece better than I originally performed it.”

Sometimes I really love the idea of generations.

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