I climbed onto the stage, my black patent leather Mary Jane’s clacking across the hardwood floor. I sat down at the Kawai piano and placed my hands in C position. I was performing “A Short Story” from Suzuki Piano School, Vol. 2, which my teacher said was a challenging recital piece (I refused to listen).
I was 10 and perhaps overly confident because as I entered the final section, I caught a glimpse of the audience. The stage lights were bright and the room was dark—too dark to see anyone’s faces, thankfully, but it was impossible to miss the steady red light of the shoulder-mount camcorder my dad had perched on his left shoulder (remember those??).