Count the Ones You Got Right

I grew up in the home of a musician. I attended more concerts of choirs my father conducted and him playing the piano than I could begin to count. There is one, however, that stands out in my memory.

I was blessed to hear my father play the piano from my earliest memory. I used to enjoy playing a random note on the piano and being blown away when my dad could tell me precisely which note it was without looking. I listened to him practice and play -- I was very familiar with his style and the arrangements he played.

I am not exactly sure how old I was at the time, but I was somewhere around eight years old. At this particular concert, my dad was playing the piano, and after he finished, he came to the front and sat down by his family. He ended up sitting immediately to my left.

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