History Lesson

“Hey Little One,” I say from the second-floor landing, “pick out three classical CDs from the cabinet.”

I’m finishing getting dressed in my bedroom as she comes in and throws the CDs on the bed. There’s a Mozart sampler and two by Franz Liszt: one of the his fully-orchestrated tone poems, and one of the “Transcendental Etudes” for solo piano.

Ah! Time for a history lesson that, maybe, she’ll remember the rest of her life. Or at least until I drop her off at school in 15 minutes.

“Did you know,” I begin, pronouncing words slowly so as to import Great Significance, “that Franz Liszt was considered …”

Does she know who Jimi Hendrix is? I think so – or maybe not. She must’ve heard me listening to him. I know she’s heard me playing him on my guitar, but that doesn’t mean anything. I decide to proceed and see if she’s developed enough (age 8, mind you), to make the mental connection.

“Franz Liszt was the greatest piano player of his time, in all of Europe. No one else could play as well as he did. In fact, it’s estimated that only a dozen people at any one time on the planet can play these songs called the Transcendental Etudes.” As I’m saying this my fingers are splayed as far apart as possible and wiggling in all directions. And I know it’s pianist, not piano player, but I don’t want any giggle fits to ruin my history lesson.

“He was considered the Jimi Hendrix of his day.”

Blank stare.

But I think she got the gist of it, Hendrix or no. Or maybe that “Wow,” was simply meant to appease me so I could release her to play with Patch until we leave for school.

I’ll have to quiz her when I see her up later today.