If you had told seven-year-old Yours Truly, at that very first piano recital, that I'd grow up to major in music and actually care about stuff like scales and modes and secondary dominant chords and what Beethoven ate for breakfast, I would have laughed you out of the room and, perhaps, beat you over the head with my plastic baton. Funny how life works out.
P.S. Look how straight my little wrists were! Excellent form.
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