子どもの頃の我が家には立派なアップライトピアノがあった。
姉が生まれた時、情操教育を志した父と学生時代に先生の弾くピアノに憧れていたという母が万感の思いで準備したらしい。
私は、姉がピアノ教室で背中に長い物差しを入れられているところを見たことがあり、ピアノを始める前からピアノに威圧感を覚えていたところがある。
姉も私も早々に挫折したため、妹はピアノ教室に入れられることもなく、ピアノだけが4度の引っ越しにも耐えて付いてきた。
私には、黒いベロア調のカバーを掛けられたまま鎮座するその姿を想い出すのさえ難しい。
流石に５度目の引っ越しで手放したらしい。
ピアノをかくれんぼに利用していた妹だけが、今辛うじて電気ピアノに親しんでいる。
藤井風さんちの場合とはえらい違いだな。
When I was a child, we had a fine upright piano in our home.
Apparently, my parents had acquired it with deep emotion when my older sister was born—my father hoping to foster her artistic sensibilities, and my mother recalling how she had admired her own teacher playing the piano during her student days.
I once saw my sister having a long ruler placed against her back during a piano lesson, so I felt intimidated by the piano even before I ever started playing it myself.
Since both my sister and I gave up on it early on, my younger sister was never sent to piano lessons; the piano simply remained with us, surviving four separate moves.
I find it difficult even to recall the image of it sitting there, draped in its black velour-velvet cover.
It seems we finally parted ways with it during our fifth move.
Only my younger sister—who used to use the piano as a hiding spot during games of hide-and-seek—has managed to maintain a connection to music, now playing an electric piano.
It is a far cry from the situation at Fujii Kaze's house.
