INSPIRATIONRUS!
A young Lads desire
by Anthony Hosking
Anthony Hosking 
Let me tell you the story of how I learnt to play the piano. I came from a large family of which I was the eldest; I had two brothers
and three sisters. Back in those days money was not very plentiful but my mother was a good manager and we always had plenty to eat and the basics of life.
My Father worked very hard to make sure we had the kind of life that we did, but unfortunately he died at a very early age. But
before he went he left us a legacy of music, both the love of it and the ability to play it.
I myself showed signs of a musical ability at a very early age and was already playing guitar and ukulele by the time I was 12 years
old. But I had an ambition to play the piano; my father played and I felt that I could as well. I approached my father when I was about fourteen and told him that I wanted to learn the piano, to this he replied “Son I think
the piano is too technically difficult for you “ Can you imagine how I felt, here was the one person I looked up to telling me that I could not do it. This was my first experience of someone pouring cold water on my ideas.
However my ambition to play the piano was a lot hotter and would have needed a lot of cold water to make me forget the idea. This
was a dream I had and there was no way I was going to let anybody destroy it for me. Money as I have already mentioned was not in great supply, so the chance of me going to a piano teacher was not even a very small option.
Not to be beaten by this major setback, I took the few pennies I had saved and when to a music shop in the town where I lived. There
I found a very bewildering selection of books to choose from, but after talking to the salesperson I came home with a book that I just knew was going to turn me into a pianist. With the book safely tucked under my arm, I caught
the bus home. Can you imagine how I felt, I could hardly contain myself, I WAS going to be a pianist. The desire was just that strong; it was already becoming a burning desire to succeed.
The house that we lived in was a big old brick building, one of those with a fireplace in every room. It had a separate lounge as
apposed to the open plan living that most of us are familiar with nowadays and a kitchen that had a coal range for cooking. The Lounge was situated on the cold side of the house and never got the sun. This is where the piano
was kept; my father often played it for many hours in the evening. I can still remember going to sleep to sound of the music he was playing.
This setup was an advantage to me in one way and a disadvantage in other ways. Firstly by having the piano in a separate room, I
could shut myself away from the rest of the family so as not bother them too much. But on the other hand, because the room was a very cold room, my fingers got very cold and I had to take small breaks from my practice to warm
my hands and feet in the kitchen where the coal range was always going.
On arriving home on the bus with my book under my arm, the very first place I went to was the lounge and the piano. Sitting myself
at the keyboard I opened the book at the first page and started to read. Well after a couple of hours I was no further ahead, it was as if the whole thing was written in another language. I always heard that you can read music,
but dots and lines where not words, how do you read these. It made no sense at all to me. However my grandmother was a pianist (no a good one I might add, but she could at least read music) so I decided the visit her and tell
her what I wanted to do. She was very patient with me and showed me how to read the top line of music.
Once again I returned to the piano and my book, and do you know that after another hour or two it started to make a little sense.
So with renewed vigor I set to the task of teaching myself to play. In couple of days I could name each note on the keyboard and I even knew what the black notes were for, I had at last got a grip on it. It was about this
time that my burning desire became an absolute obsession and nothing or nobody was going to stop me. I was going to be a pianist.
I set myself a very tough schedule of practice, after all I was going to play this thing or die in the process of learning to. This
is how my schedule went. I would wake early; start practicing at 7.00 am till it was time to go to school at around 8.30 am. I would get on my bike and head for school with about as must enthusiasm as fish out of water. When
lunch time arrived I headed for home again where my mother would have something prepared for lunch (often it was just a sandwich), I would have this and then head for my beloved piano and practice till about 12.45 and then
head back to school for the afternoon session. When school finished at 3.00 pm I would once again head for home, I did not have time to stay and play with my friends, I had more important things to do.
Because I was now at high school I had a lot of homework to do, however I was not interested in that, if it got done at all, it
was just slummed over with no thought to what it all meant. With homework over another day, I would start to practice again until it was time for the evening meal. The evening meal in our house was a time when we were all
together to share our meal and the things we all had done through the day. I remember we would sit spellbound with the anecdotes my father would relay to us about his childhood days. Then it was time to clean up after the
meal, we all had chores to do, one would wash the dishes, one would dry them, another would clear the table etc. After this was all done I was allowed to go back to my piano till 9.00 pm when it was bedtime.
Then would come the weekend; No school for two days. Guess what? I could now rest from my practice but that was not an option for
me. I could have gone to friends places etc, but I was only interested in learning my instrument. All weekend I would stay in the lounge practicing, the only time off was when my hands got too cold and stiff to play ( it was
now winter), after warming them by the coal range, which was always going and an old black kettle gently bubbling away on the edge of the stove.
Sunday morning was always reserved for church so practice in the morning was not an option, but after Sunday lunch I was allowed
to continue practicing till 9.00 pm. This went on for six solid months, I drove the rest of the family mad, but in the end I could at least play as well as my father. I had got there because not once did I feel defeated or
beaten; I knew what I wanted and went for it. The passion inside me was so great that I doubt there was anything that could have stopped me barring illness, even that would have had to take a back seat.
From there I went on to play the piano all my life (and I still do). I was the resident pianist in a tourist hotel for seven years.
Do you know how it made me feel when a perfect stranger would tell me that I played well, it always did and still does fill me with a sense of achievement, I had beaten the odds and became a pianist. Yes the piano has been
the biggest part of life and will continue to be a source of relaxation and give enjoyment to many.
So you can see that having a burning ambition will go along way toward the realization of your dreams. Under no circumstance should
you listen to what other have to say, unless it helps you in your quest. When you can develop a burning desire it seems to take care of everything for you. Firstly you become very focused with a mind set towards your goal.
What people say against your idea mean nothing to you as long as you keep that fire alive inside you? The great Waldo Emerson put it like this. “You are what you think about most of the time†so it pays to concentrate
on what you want rather that what you don’t want or even fear. There is no past, the present is yours for a split second but the future is yours to do what you will with. Don’t let it become a wasted life.
Anthony
http://www.mentorscentral.com
Apr 24th 2008 17:54
Let me tell you the story of how I learnt to play the piano. I came from a large family of which I was the eldest; I had two brothers
and three sisters. Back in those days money was not very plentiful but my mother was a good manager and we always had plenty to eat and the basics of life.
My Father worked very hard to make sure we had the kind of life that we did, but unfortunately he died at a very early age. But
before he went he left us a legacy of music, both the love of it and the ability to play it.
I myself showed signs of a musical ability at a very early age and was already playing guitar and ukulele by the time I was 12 years
old. But I had an ambition to play the piano; my father played and I felt that I could as well. I approached my father when I was about fourteen and told him that I wanted to learn the piano, to this he replied “Son I think
the piano is too technically difficult for you “ Can you imagine how I felt, here was the one person I looked up to telling me that I could not do it. This was my first experience of someone pouring cold water on my ideas.
However my ambition to play the piano was a lot hotter and would have needed a lot of cold water to make me forget the idea. This
was a dream I had and there was no way I was going to let anybody destroy it for me. Money as I have already mentioned was not in great supply, so the chance of me going to a piano teacher was not even a very small option.
Not to be beaten by this major setback, I took the few pennies I had saved and when to a music shop in the town where I lived. There
I found a very bewildering selection of books to choose from, but after talking to the salesperson I came home with a book that I just knew was going to turn me into a pianist. With the book safely tucked under my arm, I caught
the bus home. Can you imagine how I felt, I could hardly contain myself, I WAS going to be a pianist. The desire was just that strong; it was already becoming a burning desire to succeed.
The house that we lived in was a big old brick building, one of those with a fireplace in every room. It had a separate lounge as
apposed to the open plan living that most of us are familiar with nowadays and a kitchen that had a coal range for cooking. The Lounge was situated on the cold side of the house and never got the sun. This is where the piano
was kept; my father often played it for many hours in the evening. I can still remember going to sleep to sound of the music he was playing.
This setup was an advantage to me in one way and a disadvantage in other ways. Firstly by having the piano in a separate room, I
could shut myself away from the rest of the family so as not bother them too much. But on the other hand, because the room was a very cold room, my fingers got very cold and I had to take small breaks from my practice to warm
my hands and feet in the kitchen where the coal range was always going.
On arriving home on the bus with my book under my arm, the very first place I went to was the lounge and the piano. Sitting myself
at the keyboard I opened the book at the first page and started to read. Well after a couple of hours I was no further ahead, it was as if the whole thing was written in another language. I always heard that you can read music,
but dots and lines where not words, how do you read these. It made no sense at all to me. However my grandmother was a pianist (no a good one I might add, but she could at least read music) so I decided the visit her and tell
her what I wanted to do. She was very patient with me and showed me how to read the top line of music.
Once again I returned to the piano and my book, and do you know that after another hour or two it started to make a little sense.
So with renewed vigor I set to the task of teaching myself to play. In couple of days I could name each note on the keyboard and I even knew what the black notes were for, I had at last got a grip on it. It was about this
time that my burning desire became an absolute obsession and nothing or nobody was going to stop me. I was going to be a pianist.
I set myself a very tough schedule of practice, after all I was going to play this thing or die in the process of learning to. This
is how my schedule went. I would wake early; start practicing at 7.00 am till it was time to go to school at around 8.30 am. I would get on my bike and head for school with about as must enthusiasm as fish out of water. When
lunch time arrived I headed for home again where my mother would have something prepared for lunch (often it was just a sandwich), I would have this and then head for my beloved piano and practice till about 12.45 and then
head back to school for the afternoon session. When school finished at 3.00 pm I would once again head for home, I did not have time to stay and play with my friends, I had more important things to do.
Because I was now at high school I had a lot of homework to do, however I was not interested in that, if it got done at all, it
was just slummed over with no thought to what it all meant. With homework over another day, I would start to practice again until it was time for the evening meal. The evening meal in our house was a time when we were all
together to share our meal and the things we all had done through the day. I remember we would sit spellbound with the anecdotes my father would relay to us about his childhood days. Then it was time to clean up after the
meal, we all had chores to do, one would wash the dishes, one would dry them, another would clear the table etc. After this was all done I was allowed to go back to my piano till 9.00 pm when it was bedtime.
Then would come the weekend; No school for two days. Guess what? I could now rest from my practice but that was not an option for
me. I could have gone to friends places etc, but I was only interested in learning my instrument. All weekend I would stay in the lounge practicing, the only time off was when my hands got too cold and stiff to play ( it was
now winter), after warming them by the coal range, which was always going and an old black kettle gently bubbling away on the edge of the stove.
Sunday morning was always reserved for church so practice in the morning was not an option, but after Sunday lunch I was allowed
to continue practicing till 9.00 pm. This went on for six solid months, I drove the rest of the family mad, but in the end I could at least play as well as my father. I had got there because not once did I feel defeated or
beaten; I knew what I wanted and went for it. The passion inside me was so great that I doubt there was anything that could have stopped me barring illness, even that would have had to take a back seat.
From there I went on to play the piano all my life (and I still do). I was the resident pianist in a tourist hotel for seven years.
Do you know how it made me feel when a perfect stranger would tell me that I played well, it always did and still does fill me with a sense of achievement, I had beaten the odds and became a pianist. Yes the piano has been
the biggest part of life and will continue to be a source of relaxation and give enjoyment to many.
So you can see that having a burning ambition will go along way toward the realization of your dreams. Under no circumstance should
you listen to what other have to say, unless it helps you in your quest. When you can develop a burning desire it seems to take care of everything for you. Firstly you become very focused with a mind set towards your goal.
What people say against your idea mean nothing to you as long as you keep that fire alive inside you? The great Waldo Emerson put it like this. “You are what you think about most of the time†so it pays to concentrate
on what you want rather that what you don’t want or even fear. There is no past, the present is yours for a split second but the future is yours to do what you will with. Don’t let it become a wasted life.
Anthony
http://www.mentorscentral.com
Apr 24th 2008 17:54
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