My dad played piano, and taught all four of his daughters to play. I never really caught on to it, the guitar was my thing. But I loved hearing my dad play and asking him to play my favorite pieces. Chopin, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, and Granados were some of my frequent requests.
Other than the recordings we kept on the digital piano, I can no longer hear my dad play, and that makes me sad. But the other day, I realized something.
My daughter plays piano. It's always been *her* instrument, ever since she was 3 and figured out the names of the notes. She sat down to play the other day, and I asked her to play Rhapsody in Blue. She began, and, as it's a rather long piece, I had time to contemplate.
And what I thought was, "This is how my dad lives on. Through my daughter. Through her piano music, through her fingers." And that thought made me happy.