The ivory and ebony felt cool as I ran my fingers over them, relishing every second of it. I had been kept away so long that I almost forgot what they felt like. Almost.
I had taken to the piano as a fish takes to water. I couldn’t see them, but as soon as the pads of my fingers pressed a key on the magnificent Steinway grand in my mom’s living room, my heart skipped. I had found my life’s calling at age three.
I learned by touch and by ear how to play almost anything that had a tune: radio jingles, the song that the ice cream truck played, Bach, Mozart; you name it, I played it. It was (and still is) difficult to play the piano when you’re blind, but after a while it became such a joy that I could care less how hard it was.
But it’s hard to ignore your burden when it’s scrutinized by everyone; I found that out the hard way.