“Keep playing, Carol. And turn on that metronome. Your timing was off.”
The second my father left the living room, I reached for one of the chocolates from the
two-pound box of Whitman’s Samplers that always sat atop the piano next to a box of
Los Angeles’ famous See’s chocolates and popped it into my mouth, rolling my tongue
pleasingly around the strawberry cream. It was my favorite, but I wasn’t picky when it
came to chocolate. The fancy chocolates were available at all times for guests, especially
for my father’s band members when they came to the house to rehearse a new number.
They called him Maestro, and he found that to his liking. Barney Sorkin was becoming a
“somebody” in the city of stars and film producers, and he wanted his home and his two
daughters to live up to the favorable image his name evoked whenever mentioned.
“Maestro means a rare talent, Carol. An expert. A whiz. That’s what you can be, if you
keep working on your scales. You need nimble fingers to play the piano well. You have
to know those keys so well you can play in the dark or with your eyes closed like I do my
saxophone. You have to feel it down deep and hear the notes in your head.”
“I’ m trying, Daddy. It’s hard. I’m only eight.”
“That’s no excuse. Everything in life is hard. Where would we be if we quit trying
every time the going gets tough? Someday, when you’re older, you’ll learn about Knute
Rockne, the most famous coach of any football team ever. Unfortunately, the man died in
a plane crash a couple years ago, may God rest his soul. They just made a movie about
him. He told his team that ‘when the
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