# Piano Proposal Story I am seven and three quarters, and I want a piano. Not the kind you draw on paper and bang on with pencils, but a real one, with pedals and keys that go thunk. So I asked my dad. He said, “Write me a proposal.” I thought he was joking, but no. He wanted charts. He wanted impact projections. He wanted me to prove that I wasn’t just another statistic, one of the many kids who start with great enthusiasm and end up stuck forever on *Hot Cross Buns*. He cited numbers, actual numbers, about the probability of piano ownership resulting in professional musicianship. I told him I could practice every day. He said practice does not equal outputs, and outputs do not equal outcomes, and outcomes are not impact. He looked like he was going to assign me a randomized control trial. So then I asked my mom. She said, “Yes. Of course. Ambition is fragile, and I want to water it before it wilts.” I told her what Dad said about statistics. She said statistics are for people afraid of children being unpredictable. She said joy doesn’t need proof, it just needs space. She said if I love it, or if I hate it and come back to it later, or if I quit piano and start trumpet or spoons or kazoo, that’s still worth supporting. Because trying is the point. Dad thinks excitement is like Bitcoin: volatile, overhyped, doomed to crash. Mom thinks excitement is like beans: you can live on it, it’s cheap, it’s nourishing, and you can share it with friends. So I spend more nights at Mom’s house. We eat beans for dinner, and they are delicious. Sometimes she hums, and I pretend I’m already playing along. Dad is still waiting on my proposal. Mom already bought me a keyboard from a thrift shop. It’s missing two keys, but when I press them, I imagine the sound anyway. And that’s enough to keep going. ... ![[Piano and friend Tuesday before work.m4a]] (like this? see [[Piano Proposal Story - A big brothers Addendum]]) (Think this was unfair to EA? check out [[Fathers Response - Piano Proposal Story]])