My Grandmother’s Piano

Last Friday, I wrote about Cuba and as always, it made me think of my Cuban grandparents. I miss them and everything Cuban, especially the café con leche and real Cuban bread.

My grandfather helped develop my appreciation for mechanical machines. He was a doctor who really enjoyed working on cars. As a child, I watched him as he worked repairing his neighbor’s cars. I also witnessed him perform minor medical procedures in helping family and friends. I preferred watching his ministrations on machines, rather than humans.

It was my grandmother who gave me my first taste in music. She was a concert pianist who played with the Havana Symphony. It was from her music room I learned to love music.

As I have written before, I remember her music room. Black and white tiled floors, book shelves filled with music theory books, music textbooks, and sheet music, and of course, her grand piano. It was the centerpiece of the room, the center of her musical life.  At her piano, when playing one of her original compositions or a classical piece, her eyes would twinkle and her soul was visible throughout the room.

It was with this musical instrument, her grand piano, that I sat for the first time and discovered the wonder of different tones, notes, and chords created by pressing white and black keys.

It was obvious this inanimate object, this wooden box of hammers, levers, and tuned wires was very special to my grandmother. It was just a hunk of wood painted black; it was just… “a thing.”

I was amazed at how this “thing” came to life when my grandmother sat at the bench and began playing. She had the ability to give life to the piano. She could, with the sounds of one musical piece, prove to the world that her piano did, indeed, possess a living soul.

Then Castro came. He took everything from my grandparents; he took their money, he took their cars, he took their real estate, their safety deposit boxes, their jewels, their livelihood, their confidence and trust in government, and he took their souls.

And he also stole the soul of the piano.

My grandmother had no desire to ever play piano again. For her, her island, her piano, her music, it was all one, it was all the same.  When Castro stole their souls, he crushed my grandmother as he did with millions of other Cubans.

My grandparents came to Tampa and some of her new friends gave her access to their pianos, but those pianos were not her piano. Hers was long lost in Cuba.  She did not feel comfortable playing other peoples’ instruments.  The music within her soul fell quiet.

Later in their lives, my grandparents moved to Miami. I was talking with my father one day and he asked me to come down for their 50th wedding anniversary. He explained that my grandfather had worked extra hours and scrimped and saved money and he had a special gift for his wife.  That special gift was a new spinet piano.

I stood in their living room near the piano.  The room was filled with their friends and the scents of cigar smoke, Cuban food, and love.  Then the moment came and my grandfather led my grandmother into the room blindfolded.  They positioned her in front of the piano and removed her blindfold.

As long as I live, I will never forget the look of joy on her face.  It was not her grand piano of Cuba, it was not a grand piano, but it was her piano.  She had been silenced by Castro for far too long and now, the concert pianist who had not played a piano since leaving Cuba more than 20 years previously, was about to play again.  Everyone in the room collectively held their breath.

She immediately sat down placing her hands on the keys.  I noticed they were now somewhat deformed by the ravages of age and arthritis.  I wondered if she would be able to play…

And then she began.  I looked into her eyes and saw the spark again.  The music flowed from her soul through her mind and out the ends of her fingers.  It was if she had never stopped playing, practicing, a day in her life.  My father later explained the first piece she played that evening was one of her original compositions, translated, My Cuba, My Home.

Many today do not realize the depth to which Castro stole from the people of Cuba.  It is one thing to take away religion from the people.  It is terrible to take away their homes, their land, their way of life, their food.

But to steal their souls and hope is truly unforgiveable.

-30-

© 2010 J. Clark

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2 Responses to My Grandmother’s Piano

  1. flyinggma says:

    One of the few things that remained of my 92 year old Grandmother before dementia took everything else from her was her ability to play the piano. She wasn’t a concert pianist but loved her music just the same. She would sit and play song after song and sing at the top of her lungs to her grandchildren. I can still hear her voice singing as I sit and look at my piano that she played often.

    Thanks for sharing your grandmother this morning.

  2. Joe Clark says:

    You are welcome, thanks for reading.

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