HEARTLIGHT® Magazine: Just for Men: "My Mother Played the Piano"

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ill only take a minute.”

“Oh Mom,” I would say. “Oh, Mother” — the exasperation and disgust would absolutely drip from my voice — but I would go, dragging my reluctant feet.

She would be so enthusiastic. She would say, “Now I want you to sing this alto part for me.” I hated that because, even though I was small, I knew that alto

was a woman’s part.

“Why do I have to always sing alto? Why can’t I sing bass?”

“Because your voice hasn’t changed.”

“Why does my voice have to change? Did your voice change?

“No, my voice didn’t change, but yours will, and I don’t really have time to discuss this. Just sing alto because it sounds nicer with soprano.”

“But I want to know why my voice has to change? Did Dad’s voice change?”

“Yes, your father’s voice changed long before I knew him.”

“How do you know his voice changed if you weren’t there?”

“Because all men’s voices change.”

“Did Jary’s voice change?”

“No, women’s voices don’t change.”

“But that doesn’t seem fair. Why should boys’ voices change and not girls’?”

“Because that’s the way God made us, that’s why.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you just tell me that to begin with?”

“Isn’t that just the prettiest song you ever heard?”

And Mom would play the soprano part while she sang it, and then she would play the alto part and sing it. Then she would play the alto part while I sang it. Then she would play the chords, and I would sing alto while she sang soprano. You can’t imagine how excited she would be when we finished. “Isn’t that just the prettiest song you ever heard?” she would exclaim. If I thought it was something less than that —

I certainly kept it to myself.

I played my role halfheartedly at best. I had learned that the quickest way back outside was to learn my part as rapidly as possible, but sometimes I just couldn’t get into it and sang so poorly and was so sour faced and 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.” She didn’t say it with anger — or even resentmen — and 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 selfishness and insensitivity.

My mother played the piano and sang church songs. Sometimes now — even after all these years — when I can find a place where it is still and if I allow myself to be very quiet, in my mind I can see the 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.
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.”
— S. F. Bennett, “Sweet By and By”

“Come on, John,” she coaxes. “It will only take a minute. You sing alto — it goes like this — and I’ll sing soprano. Isn’t that the most beautiful song you ever heard?” 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.

From the book My Mother Played the Piano, by John William Smith, Howard Publishing, 1997. Copyright Howard Publishing, used by permission.