© 2004, 2009 by Daniel Carter. All rights reserved. Copying in any form is illegal and will be prosecuted.

With more than fifty years of scratches in the finish and chips in the ivory keys, it had been cleaned and dusted regularly, but it hadn’t been tuned in the nearly twenty years we had it. Amazingly, it seemed to hold the twenty year old tuning fairly well. It seemed to settle out of tune evenly through the whole keyboard, which to the ear, was much less biting.

While I was a student in college studying music composition, my parents helped move the “old klunker” into the apartment of a friend because there wasn’t any room for it in small basement apartment I shared with roommates. I was really glad to be able to have the piano again. Nearly everything I had ever written had been composed on it. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t keep it where I was living, but didn’t think it would be long before I could have it in a place of my own.

Trying to get through school presented the normal challenges most people have, not the least of which was how I would pay for tuition in the fall. I worked at a small grocery store and made enough to live on, but not enough for tuition, too. Finally, I decided that I could afford to go to school spring and summer terms if I budgeted carefully, but when unexpected expenses came, both terms passed with no money for tuition. I decided that the only thing I could do to get into school again was to sell the piano. After talking it over with my friend who kept it, she offered to buy it. Included in our agreement was her offer that when I was ready to buy it back I could do so for the same price she paid for it. Trying to soothe my regret by telling myself it wouldn’t be long before I would buy it back didn’t help much. Summer months came and went, and fall semester was already in progress. My hopes and efforts to buy back my piano had failed.

I was able to stay in school with some unexpected help from my parents, and during late fall, my younger brother moved into our apartment. At first I didn’t know if this was good or bad considering the numerous unbrotherly things we did to each other growing up. Not only did we have our share of normal sibling differences, but we seemed to be as similar as snow and coal. As teenagers, we constantly provoked each other. I loved to compose music, and started composing around age 10. I have to admit that it is tiring to hear a young composer try to figure out the next section of their new piece, because you get to hear the previous section about 200 hundred times in a row while they try to figure out what next to do with it. "Why don't you play something you know?" my brother would say sarcastically as he walked by. Or feigning that he had perfect pitch, "It's not the F sharp that's the problem here!" Once Mom said, "Leave him alone, he's practicing..." To which Tim responded without missing a beat, "...to torture us by playing scales until death!"

As fall semester progressed, I became more and more frustrated. So much of my study depended on work at the piano. When I wasn’t in class, I was at work. Even though I could schedule time to practice piano on campus, I couldn’t get to it because of work. Predictably, my grades slipped both for lack of a piano and lack of time to study sufficiently. I began losing sight of finishing school and started to think of other ways I could make a living without a degree, but nothing seemed right. After I got a notice that I was on academic probation, I started to become bitter. It became easy to be envious of others who seemed to be happy doing things I couldn’t. I was so consumed in selfishness that I thought my struggles were more difficult than those who carried theirs with a cheerful heart. On top of it all, Christmas was less than a month away. I didn’t have time to even look for any gifts let alone have money to buy one. I was exhausted and at the edge of dropping out.

One brisk night early in December, I was home from work about seven in the evening. I was determined to salvage at least one class by putting in some extra study for the final. My brother came in, and as he almost rushed into where I was I could feel the crisp air he brought with him on my face and arms. “Let’s go, we’ve got some moving to do,” he said in an animated, loud voice as he turned to leave in the same motion that he came in. “What?” I asked in an agitated voice. “I need you to help me move a piano,” he said heading toward the door. “Whose?” I almost yelled as the door closed. “Great!” I roared as I rushed to get my coat, “Just when I thought I had one evening to study I’m supposed to give it up to move somebody else’s piano.”

I ran outside into the icy night, and clamored into the borrowed pickup truck. Finally I broke the silence with, “Just a piano?” The words seemed as icy as the air. “Yup. Don’t worry,” he reassured, “I have to study too.” We drove up to the house of the friend who bought my piano. My first thoughts were that chances of ever buying the piano back were now moving away too.

The door opened and there stood the three of us. Two of us had smiles from ear to ear but one of us did not. “What’s up?” I asked them both, too consumed by frustration to realize what was going on. “This is your Christmas present from me,” my brother said in a would-you-just-wake-up kind of voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind helping me move it.” I ran in, sat down and played “Joy to the World.” Then I played another Christmas carol, then another and another.

I was able to salvage the semester, although I'm not even quite sure how. My grades weren’t so good, but not so bad that I couldn’t bring them up after a time. Thinking about it for a while, I realized it was just as difficult for my brother and parents to do what they did for me as it was for me to pull up my GPA. But by raising my grades, I made their sacrifice for me effective. I started to realize how incredibly important a personal sacrifice of love can be for another person, and that it's really up to the recipient to accept it and do their part in bringing their own success—do everything they can. If I'd done nothing, if I'd dropped out of school, their sacrifice would seemingly have been wasted.

I felt a need to write something for Christmas about what I had learned. I composed a little song on Christmas Eve and gave copies of it as gifts.

Even today, nearly everything I have composed has been on that piano. For many years, my wife at the time, was concerned about how the piano looked with the rest of the decor. “I think we ought to sell it,” she said analyzing the problem. It looked pretty bad for a long time. When my son was little, he would take the leg off of it holding it like a baseball bat to threaten his sister. It’s funny how much that reminds me of my brother and I. But that was fixed when I refinished the piano. Then we moved to another house and it collected a few more scratches again.

Where have all those years gone? It's amazing how it feels like only yesterday. Now that my kids are grown and married, I remind them of how my son would hold the piano leg like a baseball bat. They laugh and can hardly believe me when I tell them, and then my daughter chimes in with, "Oh, I believe you! That's not the only thing he's used as a bat to threaten me and everybody else!" I've given the piano to my daughter, although she doesn't have room for it yet. It needs some more work. There are lots of things that I should do to get it in good condition for her, but for now I think I'll play another Christmas carol.