When I was a child, I didn’t just dislike piano lessons, I resisted them with everything I had. I skipped practices, dodged lessons, and traded the bench for afternoons fishing with my grandpa. Still, my mother never let me quit. She heard every complaint, knew the struggle, and held the line anyway.
Looking back now, I’m grateful. Not because I loved piano, but because she understood what I couldn’t yet see: growth often takes root right in the middle of resistance.



