My 11-year-old twins take piano lessons with our next door neighbor, a classically-trained professional pianist.
My son began at age six. He progressed quickly. Five years later, he's playing all the classical stuff, plus Scott Joplin rags and jazz tunes by the likes of Hampton Hawes.
My daughter started a year later. She's not as dedicated. She doesn't practice as much. She gets frustrated when she does. She's several books behind her brother. She compares herself to him. Twins!
We've never once told either of them to practice. Every Wednesday morning I pay for the lessons. For about two years, I've wondered if paying for my daughter was worth it.
I kept deciding it was.
This morning she was playing her latest song – a slow minor key bluesy thing. I sit down on the bench with her and ask her to show me the chords.
She's been practicing for two weeks. Getting better. Not getting frustrated. Happy. Feeling accomplished. Playing from memory. Proud of herself.
Almost as proud as her dad. The song sounds beautiful. I tell her. She smiles. My eyes tear up. So glad I didn't give up on her.
Sometimes people need time to mature.
If we're patient, supportive, and invested in their development, they may blossom into something special.
Right when we least expect it.