The spring I turned six, I started taking private piano lessons for the first time. My first lesson was some time in mid April. One warm, sunny afternoon, my mother and I drove to my piano teacher’s house on the south side of the town. In my lap was my old, tattered YAMAHA music school bag that I’d used for the previous two years learning to play the electric organ with my friends. Now, the bag was packed with my brand new, more serious-looking music score books.
My mother and I were both nervous, and because of that, we left home a bit too early. When we arrived in the neighbourhood of my teacher’s house, it was still well before our appointment time, and we decided to stop by at a Seven Eleven we found on the street.
One of the first shelves was filled with different kinds of snack items. My gaze dropped to the bottom shelf where I found big yellow packages of popcorns.
“We can come back here after your lesson,” said my mother. “I’ll buy one snack for you then.”
“Any snack?”
“Any snack.”
Then I shall buy this popcorn bag, I grinned.
My first piano lesson went well, the hour passing by more quickly than I’d imagined. It was perhaps because there were many new things to observe in the lesson room, including the shiny grand piano I was playing. The teacher was kind and fun, and she told me what I could be working on for the coming week.
As we came out of the house and walked down the hill back to the car, a sense of accomplishment filled my heart. I’d just finished my first piano lesson, and now we were heading to the Seven Eleven for a little treat!
Once at the store, I marched straight to the snack aisle and picked up a big yellow package of popcorn from the bottom shelf. It gave me a special kind of satisfaction to pick up the treat promised an hour ago.
Our return trip back home was merry and relaxed, my mother and I both munching on the popcorn and drinking tea. Though I made sure I ate as much popcorn as I could while my mother was busy driving.
And this became our weekly ritual I looked forward to.