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Like many, I too have come to the point where I have, sadly, outgrown my piano teacher. I started lessons at the tender age of 8 years old; a slight and diminutive boy, eager to please. Mrs. Henscratch was a vicious taskmaster, driving me to near exhaustion as she prodded me through my practice sessions. I was a mere four feet and seven inches tall in those days, and Velga Henscratch was five-one and weighed in at a less-than-impressive 84 pounds. To say I have "outgrown" her in the many years that have since passed would be a raging understatement indeed. You could now fit a half dozen of her in my considerable shadow.

When my mother first began interviewing possible piano teachers for me, size didn't seem to be her primary consideration. The prospective candidates came in all dimensions, from a veritable dwarf to a behemoth so large that his interview was conducted in our front yard. The decision to hire Velga came down to finances. My father was an unemployed weight lifter and my mother did odd jobs for those in our neighborhood. She was once hired to go next door to the Henderson's twice a day and scratch their cats for them, and the Sullivan's hired her while away on holiday to read their newspapers. Her brief forays into prostitution did little to provide for us since she was advanced in age, wrinkled, and hideous. Needless to say, our financial situation was precarious, and so Velga Henscratch's offer to give me lessons at 4 cents an hour was a welcome surprise. The fact that she had no idea how to actually play a piano was somewhat troubling, but with her wages at such a bargain rate, she was hired on the spot.

Many people insist that once you have outgrown your mentor, you should quickly find another. But I enjoy the fact that Mrs. Henscratch takes up so little space on the piano bench. In addition, on those occasions when she begins to annoy me, it's a small matter to just pick her up and shake her vigorously. This seems to have a calming effect on her and as her eyes refocus, she appears to get lost in the glorious flavor of the melodies that emanate from my piano and only interrupts with the occasional and irritating "gawp" noise.

In summary, I fail to understand why an oversized piano tutor would be preferable to my tiny, shriveled and dried little Velga. In fact, were I compelled to hire larger and larger teachers, at some point their gravitational pull alone would be a distraction. Not everyone holds this point of view of course, as evidenced by the many listings advertising "huge piano teachers" in the newspaper's classified section. In my view, size discrimination is simply wrong, with the exception of in the culinary arts where, of course, the old saying applies "fat bastards cook good."

In closing I'll share that in my case this discussion is actually a moot point as I plan to take up the bassoon. Although good bassoon teachers are hard to come by, the majority of them I've encountered would be hard to outgrow.

Learn more about this author, Don Howard.
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