Story: My First Piano Recital

Let's get this out of the way:
1. No, I am unfortunately not a piano prodigy.
2. I was not a reading prodigy either.
3. After reading the title of my song, you will realize you were a fool for even contemplating I was a piano prodigy.

Keep those three bullet points in mind as the story unravels (hopefully into a cute anecdote about my childhood). So cute, in fact, you may feel the urge to hurl. When doing so, I suggest you aim for a trash can rather than the recycling bin. The recycling bin in your computer, that is.

 Picture a regular-sized auditorium, a high school auditorium, with plenty stage space to put on a full-blown production, nevermind enough room for one solitary piano with a spotlight center stage. Three judges composed of piano teachers were located downstage left, with stale looks devouring their faces. Now take this image and magnify it twenty times larger! You have entered the mind and eyes of a child. Green eyes, to be specific. I was around the age of six or seven when this story takes place. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy my breakthrough performance into stardom.

Vividly I remember that day. My piano teacher had entered me into the Clavinova Piano Competition (the youngest category and lowest possible ability level). But that didn't lower my morale! No way Jose! When you're six, all one cares about are pigtails and boogers. That's all. Honestly. I wouldn't lie to you.
Well, the competition took place during the daytime hours. Before I was set to perform "Old MacDonald" on the piano (refer to bullet points 1 and 3), my teacher was allowed to walk me onto the stage, sit me down in front of the digital piano, scoot the bench until my belly fat was suffocated under the keyboard, and pat the pleats of my dark red velvet dress saying "You'll do fine. Just have fun, and don't get nervous." Then we went backstage, waiting in the wings.

"Next up is Dorothy Gal. Age six. Playing "Old MacDonald". Please welcome Dorothy." Of course polite applause could be heard from the audition along with the rumble of oxygen tanks from the senior citizen section. I skipped to the chestnut piano bench, sat down neatly so my dress would not crumple, and nearly spazzed out with my eyes flickering every which-way. "Oh golly pajamas", I thought. Where is the "on" button? Immeadiately a puddle of tears were on the brink of spillage as I ran off into the wings to retrieve my piano teacher. She laughed at me. Then she turned on the piano. And Old MacDonald was echoing throughout the auditorium. Embarassed? Oh yeah.

Not only did the judges find my "skit" (not really a skit) hillarious (I was so terrified I almost wet myself), but they also awarded me seccond place for the entire category. The funny part? One of those three judges ended up becoming my current piano teacher: Dr. Sharpe.

From that day on, I knew I was destined to become a peformer.