Last night we went to Silas’s piano recital.
Everyone did their best. Several of them were pretty good. A couple of them were very good.
There was one kid though, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who played “Chopin something-or-another, Opus big-number, Number 1.”
Holy crap! When he got done we were all like — Woah!
After the recital, I took Silas with me and went to say how great it was. I asked, “How many hours a day do you practice?”
“Not much,” he said. “Maybe 45 minutes, three times a week.”
His mother was standing right there. “I used to be able to get him to practice more, but not so much these days,” she said.
I was shocked. How could he be so good? I had expected he’d say a couple hours a day every day.
Brooke said, “You listen to your mommy.”
“Well,” I said, “it was really very good. Thank you.”
On the way out I wondered out loud, “If he’s that good without too much practice, imagine what he’d be able to do if he did practice.”