father is knocking on his daughter’s door. “Lisa, it’s time to practice the piano”. “Annoying!” Lisa muttered, getting up and shuffling across the aisle. Early in the morning, the sky outside was grey. She turned on the lamp beside the piano and sat down on the hardwood bench. Try the scales first.
  Father watched Lisa from the kitchen as he sorted out his airline uniform. “Keep a steady pace,” he said, sipping his coffee, “don’t be in a hurry.”
  Lisa quickly entered the etude stage, trying to get through this period early. The piano teacher’s voice echoed in her head: “Wrists raised, fingers bent, music should flow from your fingers.” Lisa played a wrong note at this time.
  ”I heard it,” said my father, walking into the living room with cup and toast. “Play it again,” he sat down in the wing-back armchair. “How about “Blue Danube” this morning?”
  My father had his own favorite tune. “Waltz” from the “Nutcracker” suite, (“Habanera” from “Carmen”, and every waltz by John Strauss. Lisa then entered the stage of playing music. Father listened with satisfaction “Music is a unique language,” he often said. “Humans can express in music what language cannot.” Lisa’s grandfather was a pianist in Italy, but when the family immigrated to Canada There was no money for Lisa’s father to continue learning the piano. So the responsibility of learning the piano fell inexorably on Lisa’s shoulders.
  ”Play some legato,” said the father, leaning back in his chair. “Softer. Slower”. He’s been working at the airport all day, battered by the roar of engines. Now is his time to enjoy the peace, Lisa guesses.
  Morning practice never lasts long A long time. My father is going to go to work in a while, and Lisa has to do her homework after breakfast. There is a French test in the morning. She hardly has a moment to brush her hair. If only she didn’t have to waste time on the piano Now. Why did my father want me to practice the piano? What a torture. Lisa thought.
  Shortly after that day, Lisa got a job as a waitress in a restaurant after school. “Dad,” she announced, “I don’t have time to play the piano anymore.” Father sat in a chair thinking. Lisa reiterated it several times because she thought he might not be able to hear what she was saying – the roar of the airport had damaged her father’s hearing. Father finally stood up and went out. Maybe he didn’t want to respect my opinion at all. Lisa looked down at the upright piano at home and made up her mind: no matter what her father thought, she would never touch the piano again.
  After graduating from college, Lisa found a job as an early childhood teacher. One day, she saw the principal walk into the classroom. “Introducing you, this is Anthony,” said the headmaster. Beside him stood a young boy with pale yellow hair, holding a small electronic organ in his hand. “Anthony can’t talk,” said the principal, “so this kid has an electric keyboard with him and uses it to express his thoughts.” How strange! Lisa thought, smiled kindly at the little boy, and held out her hands .
  ”Hello, Anthony,” Lisa said, “you’re welcome.”
  Anthony pressed two notes on the keyboard, one high and one low, realistically imitating the tone of “Hello”. Music is a unique language. Lisa couldn’t help recalling this sentence from her father.
  ”You’ll find that he can express a lot with the keyboard,” commented the principal.
  Anthony used a high note for “yes” and a low note for “no”. When doing arithmetic, if the answer is 5, he strikes a note 5 times. He even congratulated another child “Happy Birthday” in his own way. Anthony’s wisdom made Lisa realize that music is not just a product of scales and strumming, it is an exchange of information.
  One day after school, Lisa noticed a piano in the music room. A flood of memories flooded my mind. In those days, she just sat on a hardwood bench and played for her father. I don’t know if I still remember how to play it now. “Can I try?” Lisa asked. “Of course,” the music teacher replied.
  The music came back all at once! Even though there was no sheet music in front of her, her fingers were naturally on the correct keys. “Blue Danube”, “Habanera”, “Waltz of Flowers”…the beautiful melody drifted in the classroom. At this point, they seemed to Lisa like some long-lost friends, rather than an inescapable torture.
  Lisa has since developed a habit of going to the music classroom to play the piano. After get off work every day, she always played a legato-waltz or sonata to stretch her mood. All those teenage morning prayers at the piano were answered with every tune she played. God seemed to be telling her: Look, Lisa, this is the most beautiful language your father could wish to share with you.
  A luxury shopping mall in the city needs to recruit several amateur pianists, and Lisa applies and is hired. So every Saturday afternoon, she sits in front of a piano in the mall’s gleaming foyer, playing classical tunes to the coming and going customers.
  On the eve of her father’s 60th birthday, Lisa called her father: “Dad, I have an unexpected gift for you this year.” Since the piano at home had been sold long ago, she invited her father to come music classroom.
  ”Sit closer,” Lisa motioned. Because she knew that her father’s hearing was already poor. Father leaned over and almost sat down with Lisa.
  Lisa played beautiful pieces, “Waltz,” “Habanera,” “Blue Danube”… She started a little faster, but it was out of excitement rather than boredom. Father’s fingers were now moving back and forth on his knees, as if he were playing.
  ”This is the most unusual birthday present you’ve ever given me,” my father whispered.
  ”Thank you, Dad,” Lisa said, “thanks to your strictness with me when I was a kid.”
  Lisa closed her eyes, raised her wrists, and bent her fingers, and the tunes floated out for a long time. remained in her memory.

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