I was 18 years old and second year in high school. I never really wanted to take music lessons but it was a forgone conclusion in my family. Both my parents were very musical. My mother was a backup cellist in the cities symphony and my father had taken music lessons his entire childhood. My parents had tried to get me enthused about some instrument – any instrument, but to no avail.
I had played the violin for a few years (an extremely painful experience for all concerned), the tuba for 2 (see above re pain) and the guitar (somewhat better, but Eric Clapton I was not). As a last resort my parents suggested I try the piano. I resisted, but they were adamant so I reluctantly agreed. They looked around for a teacher in our area and found a few. They called around and the first two only taught on weekends. Mom and Dad wanted it done during the week. The next one they called was Miss Miller. She taught during the week and they said she sounded friendly.