Liz took a deep breath and launched into her solo. Her fingers danced along the silver keys. The melody floated out of the instrument, sweet and pure and honest. I closed my eyes, letting myself be carried away by my daughter's song.
I forgot about the competition. I forgot about Liz's nervousness at performing in front of her father.
All at once I pictured my own father, patiently enduring my nightly accordion practice sessions though he must have yearned for peace and quiet after his long days at the pizza factory. My practical dad, adamantly opposed to any kind of debt, conceding to make payments on a top-of-the-line, full-size accordion when I'd outgrown my second-hand student model. My stern, serious dad, cranking up our Lowrey organ, picking out the notes of a swingy Big Band tune and getting the whole house jumping. My unsentimental, overworked father leaning back in his recliner, his burdens chased away by tears of joy at hearing his youngest child play his favorite song.