I grew up with a piano in my home given to us by my paternal grandfather. My mother loved to sit down on the bench during her daily chores and play some of her favorite pieces from the 1940's. She was completely self-taught, and I loved listening to the music as she played as sang along with the melody.
My first requests for piano lessons were turned down with vague reasons like "you're too young to know what you want" and "we can't afford lessons right now". These reasons seemed invalid to a six-year-old, but I switched to a more covert approach, finding time to listen to music on the radio, and participating in songs I learned in school. By the time I was seven, I could tell I was wearing my parents down, and my lessons began.
My first teacher was a very elderly lady from England named Madora Cadwallader, who lived just a few blocks from church. Some wonderful church people found her for me, as I evidently told a lot of people there of my great need to learn to play the piano ( I was a drama queen even then!!). Finally, the first chapter of my Piano Story had just begun.
