Way back when … No, wait. Let’s take that from the top.
WAY back when I was halfway between toddler and kindergarten, it was discovered that I had some kind of musical ability. My brother was taking piano lessons, but I could play them and he couldn’t. Turned out, he was tone-deaf. All he wanted was a ball, a bat, and lemme outta this house!
So he got the ball and bat and I got the piano lessons. Tickling the ivories, it was called because back then, piano keys were made of ivory. Or had been. By the time I got my grand piano — a 14th birthday gift from mom — they were hard plastic. Steinway didn’t want any more dead elephants on their conscience.
I got pretty good at tickling those ivories, but not good enough to be a serious performer. The truth was, I didn’t really want to be a musician. I was going to write great novels and be famous, live alone in a house on a cliff in Maine overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
And look how close I’ve come?