Growing up in the Olson household, playing the piano was just something you did-kinda like breathing or eating. There were four of us-two older sisters, then me (four years later), and then my brother, the caboose (six years later). When I was a kid, we had one piano-an upright that my mom had stained a dark, blackish green color (this was the 70s, people). We took turns practicing-a couple of us in the morning before school and a couple in the afternoon. My mom oversaw our practicing-even though she could only barely play herself-sometimes sitting next to us to help us count out a rhythm or telling us that we were playing a note incorrectly.
And then, all of the sudden (in my mind), we had two. The old green upright and a sleek black baby grand. I guess I was about 12 when we got it, so I wasn’t privy to the back story of how we ended up with the nice new piano. All I knew was that it was mine to enjoy. I thought I was quite the little pianist-even thinking I was going to be a concert pianist when I grew up. (I clearly was not good enough to be a concert pianist, but was unfazed by that reality.) I played that piano hard and loved it and hated it. Whenever I’d had a bad day, I’d come home from my after school job and hammer out some Liszt or Rachmaninoff or maybe butcher a beautiful Chopin scherzo or a Mozart nocturne. That piano bore the brunt of my adolescent angst. It was there for me when I broke up with a boyfriend (umm, I mean, when my boyfriend broke up with me); it was there for me when I fought with my parents (although that didn’t occur too often); it was there for me when my piano teacher-God love her-left without speaking to me after my 16-year-old concerto debut because I had flubbed a run that we’d worked on really hard, for months.
I graduated from high school and went away to BYU, thinking I would major in piano performance. I decided-after a month of practicing several hours a day-that if I were going to continue to love playing the piano, I’d better change majors. That ended my 13~ year run of piano lessons, but I have continued to play the piano-for fun, for relaxation, and for countless church activities.
Then I got married and had a few kids. So did my three siblings. Every semester, my mom emails us to ask how much the kids’ music lessons cost and then she writes us a check from her retirement account. I don’t know how much the total ends up being, but it must be a pretty penny because there are now 17 grandchildren (most of whom take music lessons). A number of years ago, when she first offered, we all tried to refuse, but my mom wouldn’t hear of it-my grandmother had done it for us-a little tidbit I don’t recall ever knowing. Music was very important to my grandma, who taught piano lessons and played the piano and organ for everything at church. 
Fast forward to this spring, when my mom sent my sibs and me an email saying that she wanted to pass the baby grand piano along to one of us. It was a beautiful instrument, she told us, and it was only being played once or twice a month when a grandkid stopped by her house and happened to play something. None of us knew how to respond. We would all enjoy and appreciate it, but no one wanted to bicker over it. And no one knew how to decide who would get it.
My mom also explained to us that she’d had it appraised, so she had an idea of how much it was worth, but that its worth was much more than financial to her. I learned for the first time how that piano came to be ours. My mom explained that while my dad was in the midst of cancer treatment, they decided that we should have an excellent instrument NOW, because nothing is forever. She swallowed her pride a bit and asked her mother to help them pay for it. My grandmother happily obliged-just as my mother happily writes a check every semester to subsidize her grandchildren’s music education.
After some behind-the-scenes discussions, it was decided that the piano would get moved to our house, and our piano (which my family also loves) would get moved to my parents’ house. I feel sheepish about it. I’m counting on my siblings to be honest when they say they’re good with it living at our house-even though all of us dragged our feet for a while, feeling like the piano just belonged at our parents’ house-in “the green room” (dubbed thus because the original carpet in that room was lime green. Remember I said this was the 70s.).
On Sunday, eleven of my parents’ grandchildren gathered at our house for one last recital with the piano in my parents’ house, in the green room, where it’s been for nearly 30 years. Nine of the grandchildren played a solo and I played a duet with Kennedy. It was a busy affair, with all those tow-headed cousins running around, jostling and giggling and whispering amongst themselves.
I feel like I’m taking a piece of our family without really having earned it. But I promise to remember the back story of how it ended up in our family-thanks to my grandma’s generosity and my parents’ desire to savor life now, since nothing is forever.
So thanks, Mom and Dad (if you’re reading), and grandma, who’s no longer with us.
The piano is in the right place because you loved it the most. Besides, you earned it because we love you and we love all your family and your kids.
How lucky you are to have siblings and parents like that!
Our family’s got a similar attitude toward education and paying for it. My dad’s family believes that it’s a lot better for kids to have access to good education when they’re young, rather than getting an inheritance when they’re grown, so paying for college has been a multi-generational effort for the last couple of generations. It’s a good system. My husband and I paid for most of the college bill for our kids, but my parents have paid for some of it, and also paid for travel, etc. My father’s parents were too poor to pay for much for him when he was a kid, and my dad felt keenly the opportunities he’d missed, so he made sure that didn’t happen to his grandkids.
You’re welcome , my dear one and thanks to you for sharing your heartfelt feelings. I’m waiting right now for the mover, guessing I can do it alone – give it one last kiss. Sunday was one of those days Dad & I will remember always, having each one of you offer a part to the “Cousins’ Recital.” When you play the piano years from now, you’ll think of me and how much I loved having it for lo these many years. I’m shedding some tears at this recollection, but it’s mainly all wonderful.
I love you, Heather and Brent, Kennedy, Marin and Stuart and all the fourteen others. Play on.
You are lucky to have such a nice piano, but even luckier to have such a nice family.
This is beautiful, Heather.
I love the photo of young Heather at the piano. That’s a great musical love/heritage that your family has given you.
Heather, As someone who knew your grandmother well, I can assure you that nothing would have made her prouder than to have been in the room with you listening to the legacy of her love of music. You are treasuring her legacy well.
The piano went to the right place–to the person who practiced and played and loved and hated that beautiful piano the very most. And I can say that because I am your sister and it was my excellent idea :)
Heather, i love your family whom I’ve only met through your words. You are a very lucky woman and I know you know that.
I too received music lessons from grandma and I never caught on. My mom and dad are about ready to sell their piano, but unlike you my brother and I never played very well that is. I am lad you got to keep a family heirloom. I am fortunate to have grandpa struck ” big red” and she is in the shop now being completely redone and beautified. I will post pics when she is done and running like she deserves.
Yes, Jennifer! I love that you have that truck. Please post pics. I’d love to see them!
Sorry about the spelling, spell check is to blame ;)
What a beautiful story. How wonderful that your parents (and siblings) are willing to have the piano passed on to you while your children can still enjoy it. I grew up in a similar family (though a generation earlier) with a piano which was also purchased by my grandmother. All six of us children in our family learned to play on that instrument, which was a beautiful upright grand, but only my sister and I continued to play as adults. By the time Mom and Dad died, I had purchased a nice piano, but my sister was still playing an old clunker, so the unanimous decision was that the piano should go to her. Now it is fun to sit down and play that piano whenever I visit her.
Heather – I love this story and knowing your family – it is even sweeter.
I hope you and the kids are enjoying the piano.