Mrs. Huff

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us. --Albert Schweitzer


My Dear Mrs. Huff,

I have been thinking about you quite often lately as I recently pulled out my Christmas music and have spent hours playing the piano while Ammon, my two year old, interrupts me to get him food or to take him potty. He asks to sit on my lap so he can "help" me play. . . well, you get the idea. Most often, he tells me that it's his turn; I think he might be my musical genius. At night, my older children, Madison and Logan, ask me to play when they go to bed. They tell me that "it makes them feel good, and it's nice to fall asleep to the music."

I share my gift at church, to accompany others. I play to remind myself that I am still a person--more than the folder of clothes, the mopper of floors. I set goals to learn new songs--and spend days (weeks, sometimes) perfecting them. Most recently, I have gotten into Scott Joplin's music--boy is it fun to play! I love his "Maple Leaf Rag." 

I will forever be grateful for the gift you gave me to not only know how to play the piano, but to love to play the piano, and to love music. I feel that, with some life experience, I am finally beginning to add  the emotion that you wanted me to feel into the music that I play. I play Rachmaninoff when I'm angry, Chopin and Mozart when I'm happy, Jon Schmidt when I'm in a lighter mood. I play religious music when I'm in need of spiritual uplift--and it's through these songs that I know God exists! I feel it in my soul; the existence of such sound persuades me of His presence.

The love of music that you shared with me, I am now sharing with my four children. Last year, Madison won first place at a talent show after playing a song on the piano while blindfolded. They like to play as long as I'm not sitting by them. It isn't an easy task to teach. . . How did you stand my evasion of theory? The weeks I didn't practice? My refusal to count? I tell myself it must be easier when it's someone else's kids. . . but over the 20 years that you taught the five Foster children--surely, you must think of us, in a way, as your own.

I remember going straight from school to piano lessons, where we might wait hours for our turn. Each week you had a box of snacks for us to eat; maybe you knew we would wait more quietly, or play more heartily. I remember running out to your car with the key fob (a novelty at the time!), and rummaging through the stacks and stacks of piano music in your trunk. What treasures would we find that day?

Thank you, Mrs. Huff, for your patience, your love, and your refusal to give up on me. Thank you for teaching me so much more than how to read notes.


Forever Your Student,

Jennifer Foster McGregor