One time too many
When I was around 6 or 7, my mom had me attend piano lessons at my cousins’ house. We had this really strict teacher who would bring with her a wood ruler to tap our hands with should we commit mistakes. The taps brought with it hurt and shame. Instead of making me want to learn more, it brought tears to my eyes and made me want to quit.
I remember one day, I had one too many taps on my hands. The red welts on my hands were more than enough for me to quit. And I did. I went home crying. I told my mom that I didn’t want to go back anymore. I knew she was disappointed.
Looking back, I realized that I would have went back should my mom insisted on it. But since she didn’t, there was no reason for me to go back anymore. My mom’s my inspiration. It would have been great had I learned to play the piano. I took me a year, I think, before I quit. When I look back in my life, I realize that it was the start of the many instances that I have quit because of the fear of committing more mistakes. But what if had I not quit the piano lessons I would have succeeded and become a great pianist? I would never know now. Much the same that I would never know what might have happened to me had I not quit one time too many…