Hard lesson learned

Biscuit had a piano competition this afternoon. Well, they don't call it a competition. They call it a piano festival. But it's a competition.

Remember the videos I posted earlier this week? Those are the two songs he played.

The competition is at one of the colleges here. The kids are on Spring Break, so the festival takes over part of the music building.

The way it works is that we get a time slot ahead of time. Biscuit was supposed to play at 3:18 p.m. Not 3:17 or 3:19, mind you, but 3:18.

We arrived and got him signed in. There are things you have to do like write down the names of the songs you'll play and the composers. You also have to number the measures of the songs. So when the judges are writing their critiques, they can say, "The tempo should be slower at Measure 17" or other things like that.

So they told us which room Biscuit would be in, and we headed down the hall.

We got to the room at 3:10, and the monitor (the person who checks you off the list and tells you when to go in) asked Biscuit's name.

He told her, and she said, "Okay, we're ready for you now. You're the last student for the day."

They were ready for us, but we weren't ready for them. Biscuit was still wearing his jacket, and we didn't have his books open to the songs, so it was a bit of a mess.

They almost always run late, so we were counting on Biscuit having at least 10 minutes to chill before he had to go in and play.

He walked in and said he did a quick warm-up to get the feel of the piano. Then played his songs. The rooms are sound-proof offices, so once he's in there, we can't hear a thing. He was back in the hallway in about 5 minutes. Literally.

A few minutes went by, and the judge came out and handed his score sheet and books to the monitor. The monitor handed them to us, and we looked down for his score.

He got an excellent-plus.

Now, most people would be excited about that. The top score is superior, and excellent is the next score down. Essentially, getting an excellent-plus is like getting a B-plus in school. But as long as Biscuit has been doing these things, he has only gotten superior scores.

I was prepared for him to score less than usual. The songs he played are challenging for someone of his skill level. For example, the last chord of one of the songs requires him to reach a full octave. That's eight piano keys with his little hands. I can reach 10 with my grown-up hands. He also wasn't as comfortable with the songs as he usually is. 

I was also worried about how quickly they took him in the room, right after he had run all the way from the parking deck to the music building, then up a flight of stairs, then walked down a long hallway. I guess maybe I should've asked for a couple of minutes for him to chill out. I don't think it would've changed his score, but he might have felt calmer.

I texted his teacher and asked where he was. We were on the left hall, and he was on the right hall. I could tell by the look on Biscuit's face that he was about to cry.

Jeff and I always tell him that we don't care what his score is. And we mean it. For us, it's more important that he puts in the work and does the best he can do. And we always tell him that we'll take him for a treat no matter what his score it. And we mean that, too.

We met up with his teacher. He read the comments, and he wasn't pleased. He said, "She's just a tough, tough judge."

Here's the thing, because I'm his mama, and I want him to be happy all the time, I want to say, "They called you in too early. She was too tough. You didn't have time to calm down before you played."

But ultimately, I think not getting a superior is kind of a good lesson. 

He has a month before his next competition, and I think the lower score at this one will make him work harder for that one.

We left the university and headed to the treat place he requested.

Along the way, he was kind of snippy with Jeff and me, and as we were coming out of the bakery, I dropped the box with my leftover cake in it. (The box didn't open, thank goodness!) But Biscuit made a really smart aleck remark about it and laughed.

This was not typical Biscuit behavior, so once we got in the car, I asked him, "What's up, dude?"

"What do you  mean?" he asked.

I told him he was being rude and pretty mean, and that those behaviors weren't really like him.

We finally talked it out enough to find out that he was a lot more disappointed than he was letting on. And he was taking it out on Jeff and me.

He felt bad and apologized, and I explain to him that it's hard to figure out your feelings.

"Sometimes when I'm in a bad mood, I'll say something mean to Dad, when he has nothing to do with why my mood is bad," I told him. "The thing is, though, you need to figure out why you're feeling what you're feeling so you won't take things out on the wrong people."

"Or if you do take it out on the wrong people, you should apologize, right?" Biscuit asked.

"Exactly," I told him.

He's got a month to get ready for the next one, so we'll see how it goes.