This is a story about priorities.
When I was in fourth grade my parents bought a house and it came with a piano! Suddenly we had a house that wasn't on wheels and we had a piano. Pretty cool. I started taking piano lessons right away from a lady in our small town.
My mom would drop me off for my lesson and then she would go run errands around town until it was time to pick me up. One day I was standing by the front door waiting for my mom to pick me up when my teacher's little girl, who was maybe five years old looked at me and said, "You think you're pretty cool, don't you"? I was probably in 7th or 8th grade, just standing there minding my own business. I was shocked and didn't really know how to answer her because I most certainly didn't think that at all. I was SO happy when I saw my mom's car and I ran out of the house.
My piano teacher and I got along well except that she didn't like my long fingernails. During every lesson she would comment on my nails and tell me that I needed to cut them short so she could hear the notes I was playing rather than the click, click, click of my nails hitting the keys.
When I was in tenth grade, after six years of lessons, my piano teacher gave me an ultimatum. I had pretty much stopped practicing, and my nails were still long. She suggested that I wasn't really too serious about playing the piano, and said that in order to continue taking lessons from her I needed to commit to practicing faithfully and cut my nails. I quit.
I still play piano on occasion. I have a piano in my living room and once in a while as I walk by I get the sudden urge to play. My very best song is What Child is This - I can play it like nobody's business.