I can’t see over the piano in my classroom. It's a studio upright. The fact that I can't see over the piano also means I can't see kids messing around. Until last year, I solved this issue by sitting on textbooks.
(Don't tell anyone, but I have also been known to stand on these textbooks, on a chair, to reach my top shelves. I should probably just ask for a ladder.)
By my calculations, my school piano is around forty years old, but it's in pretty good shape, considering it's only eight years younger than I am.
The piano tuner did tell me once that he had found dried up liquid dumped inside the top.
"It looked like blood," he said. "It could have been coffee."
"Weird. That must have been before my time," I said.
I have no recollection of spilling blood or coffee inside the piano.
This year, with ten years left until retirement, I decided to forgo the textbooks and buy a booster seat.
My booster seat is similar to those cushions they have available at Broadway touring performances since auditorium seats are not made the five-foot-two and under crowd.
After using my cushion for a couple of days, realizing the kids couldn't fully see my death glare, I decided I could use a higher booster, and I bought a second one.
"You bought a second booster seat?" my husband, Dan, asked.
"Shut up."
When the kids figured out I sat on cushions, they asked to see what I look like behind piano without them.
I showed them.
"WHOA!" they exclaimed in unison.
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| Mrs. Duggan, sitting on two booster seats, looking over her classroom piano |
One afternoon, my supervisor told
me they are looking into replacing the school district pianos. It's a five-year plan, so it may be a while.
"Will I be able to see over it?"
I sat on the booster-less piano bench to demonstrate what I meant. He laughed as my head disappeared behind the upper panel.
"That sounds like a you problem!"
I guess the answer is "no."
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