Because I was invented Maverick shirts
My brother learned how to play the piano. I used to lounge on a beanbag in the room he played music in, and correct his songs – told him which keys he hit wrong, which chords to try instead. We did this for hundreds of hours. But I didn’t dare touch the piano or keyboard myself. I knew I was a musical disaster. Because my parents kept telling me this. Why would they lie? Third grade, end of the performance. Thunderous applause. Tons of compliments directed my way. I found my mother. Around me, every mom was hugging her daughter, looking down at their daughters with fierce pride in their eyes and telling them what a wonderful job they did.
(Because I was invented Maverick shirts)
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