Max discovered the toy piano in the spare bedroom at her great grandparents’ house. You know the type: looks like a miniature upright piano and plays that tinkly music that resembles back porch wind chimes.
Well, perhaps tinkly wind chime music in the hands of some normal kid. But this was Max. Max fancied herself a veritable virtuoso of the toy piano. She banged and played in her assigned spot in the bedroom that opened to the kitchen where we all sat around the table visiting. That way, she had an audience without deafening us all.
She played for a long time sitting on her tiny stool in front of her tiny piano. Suddenly, the music stopped. Max stood up and loudly announced: “I can’t play this thing anymore! I don’t have a pinano license!”
“You don’t need a license to play a piano,” I answer calmly from the table.
My mom looks confused. “License? Where did she get that?” I shrugged. Who knows with that kid.
Max continues her tirade. “I can’t practice without a license! I NEED one! It has lines and circles on it! I can’t play the pinano without my license!”
I’ve spent some time figuring out Max-ness, so as soon as she said lines and circles, I got it.
“I’ll make you a license,” I tell her. She calms down and goes back to the piano, but won’t touch it. I found some paper and a black crayon and began to draw.
“What are you making her?” Mom asks.
“A license,” I answer as if it all made perfect sense. When I was finished, I held up the paper. On it was crudely drawn sheet music. Mom grinned.
“My LICENSE!” yelled Max jumping up and down happily. “Now I can play my pinano!” She sat back down and began playing carefully ‘reading’ the music on the license set carefully atop the piano. Soon, the music got louder and she played with more flourish, all the while keeping a close eye on her ‘license.’
When she was done, in true Max fashion, she took a deep bow.