Sing Us a Song, You’re the Piano Man

Sing Us a Song, You’re the Piano Man
by Andrea Rennick

When we first moved up here to housesit, we eventually lugged our piano up and stored it in a friend’s house. Long story full of extra details cut way short: it sat there for three years. Finally, we arranged to get it delivered to us this past Monday at 8am.

There was much excitement as the piano moved into our house, and as the mover guy passed by on one of his many trips, he asked me, “So, is anyone actually gonna play this?” This set me aback a little, for why would we have a piano if not to play it? “Uh, yeah,” I told him. “A bunch of us are learning, we just haven’t had it in the house for a while.” And then he proceeds to tell me that about half the pianos he’s moved wind up in houses where nobody plays — it’s just for show.

That is so sad.

All day Monday, the piano saw more use than the computer and tv combined. Around 8pm, one of the kids sat down to it again, and I leaned over to Ron and whispered, “I don’t want to damage her interest, but can we ask her to stop? Please? I’ve heard this all day.” He cradled my head for me.

We’ve all had a chance to tickle the ivories, to relate the story of How Meaghan Scratched Pictures On The Lid And Wasn’t Sorry, and to dig out the many piano books we have, apply learning stickers to the keys, and belt out semi-recognizable tunes one-handed. Even Emma can play the opening bar to Happy Birthday. This has led to every day being someone’s birthday, but that’s another story.

The piano sits in the foyer, right alongside the stairs. It belongs there.

Every so often, I pick up a book and sit down, right hand picking out the melody to songs I half-know, from another time. Night and Day, Bye-bye blackbird, You Made me Love You, Fly Me to the Moon.

I play love songs and sing to my husband, I remember the old ones and my grandmother’s hands stroking the keys on her piano. I hear music in my household and love it, and wish I’d done this sooner. I plunk out another song.

You’ve got to give a little, take a little,
and let your poor heart break a little.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

You’ve got to laugh a little, cry a little,
until the clouds roll by a little.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

As long as there’s the two of us,
we’ve got the world and all it’s charms.
And when the world is through with us,
we’ve got each other’s arms.

You’ve got to win a little, lose a little,
yes, and always have the blues a little.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

Andrea Rennick is a homeschooling mom of four children, ranging in age from 4 to 17. A sense of humour is a big part of dealing with the ins and outs of her day. She can also be found at her website, Reach her at