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We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary in 2008. Our children helped us celebrate with an all expense paid all arranged vacation In Hawaii.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
John William Smith is one of America's best storytellers. The following is a story of his and the name of one of his books, My Mother Played the Piano. I have edited it for length.
My mother played the piano. She played mostly by ear, I think, but she often looked at the notes too. She played "Red River Valley," "When My Blue Moon Turns to Gold Again," and Mexicali Rose"--but mostly she played church songs.
Sometimes when I came in to get a drink or some needed thing or to ask if I could go farther than normal, she would say, "John, come here and sing this with me." She didn't say it like a command or an order or anything--not like when she said, "Go clean the chicken coop," or "Go hoe the garden." She would just say it like a request or like she would appreciate it as a favor. I usually didn't want to. I was afraid my friends would hear through the open windows--or , worse yet, that they would ask, "What took you so long?" And I would have to say, "I was singing some church songs with my mother."
When I did sing with her you can't imagine how excited she would be when we finished. "Isn't that the prettiest song you ever heard?" She would exclaim. If I thought it was something less that that--I certainly kept it to myself. Sometimes I was so sullen that she would slowly close the book, pat me on the shoulder, and say, "You go on back to your friends, now. We'll do this some other time." I don't know how many times it happened before I noticed that when I went back outside, I didn't hear the piano or singing any more that day.
It wouldn't have cost me much--and it meant so much to her. I look back with regret and tears for my insensitivity.
Sometimes in my mind I can see that old white house with the white curtains moving at the open windows; and through those open windows, I see those nimble fingers moving on the keys, and I hear her voice.
"There's a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar; For the Father waits over the way, To prepare us a dwelling place there. In the sweet by and by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore.
"Come on, John," she coaxes. "It will only take a minute." And in my mind I say "I'm coming Mom," and I rush to her with joy because I know how happy it will make her.
And it is, you know, the most beautiful song I ever heard.
