"Distressed Keys"...Distressed Adolescence

As I unfolded the tiny piece of paper that had been hidden in a carefully wrapped box, the thought was crossing my mind that my 11th birthday may be somewhat of a let down. A piece of paper? Really? Hm...maybe a homemade "You don't have to do chores for a month" coupon? Or, maybe it was some kind of sick, twisted joke devised by my older sister, who so often and lovingly referred to me as "nerd brains" (in her most southern accent, of course). Little did I know, that my most fervent prayers were about to be answered in a simple sentence of five harmonious words. Confused, I read aloud "You...may...quit...piano...lessons." Hold on. No, that couldn't be. Did I read that right? Let's try again. Maybe I should get someone else to read it for me. After all, I am only in the "blue" reading group at school. "Is this a joke?" I suspiciously asked my mum. With a look of sadness, but a sweet smile, she nodded. And then, the screaming ensued. And for some odd reason, the object that I had grown to despise, now became the outlet for my celebration. Pounding of the keys (literally, I had only four years of lessons...most of which did not stick) was the only obvious reaction. To this day, I remember that present to be one of the best ever given to me. In the months and years to follow, my Mum got quite a kick out of her routine, yet unexpected, side trips to the place that I had taken lessons. I would be in the midst of belting out a song, or maybe the middle of a profound statement about my middle school life, oblivious to the turns we were taking to lead to that dreaded place. It only took one look...one realization... the sweat started pouring. I love that my mom helped me practice how to handle panic attacks. If one ever naturally happens, I'll be prepared. "What are you doing?" I would somehow manage to utter. "Oh, did I forget to tell you?" she would ask, trying her best not to laugh. "I signed you back up for piano lessons". I fell for this every...single ....time. I think she finally stopped sometime during my sophomore year. So, all of this to say...I really have no idea why I decided to create a painting that showcases the object which brought me so much pain, misery, and physical stress (hence the title "Distressed Keys"). Yes, now that I am an adult, I kick myself often for being so stupid as a kid and giving up on something I so much desire now. To be able to sit down and run my fingers across those keys, creating a beautiful noise, would be such a cherished blessing. I guess that will just have to be next on the artistic "to do" list!