Lesson #1 Around ten years old I got ushered to a piano bench by a concert pianist. She seemed kind, I was cluelessly optimistic, and my parents paid good money for the woman to deal with me for two years. If you don’t know my family, my father also earned the title of a concert pianist. So it would seem logical for the two of us to meet weekly in the formal living room for 30 minutes so he could enlighten me with everything he knew on our own piano. But my parents were well aware that teaching his [athletic, stubborn, distractable] daughter himself wouldn’t be the best idea. Instead,…