But life wasn’t easy. My parents couldn’t afford piano lessons for me, so my dream of playing the piano stayed just that — a dream. When I started my own family, I was determined to pass that dream on to my daughters.

At five, my oldest daughter started piano lessons. She wasn’t particularly talented, and honestly, she didn’t always enjoy it. But I was so eager for her to love music that I pushed her gently, and she worked hard.

Then came her first piano recital. I dressed her up like a little princess and sat with her countless times to practice a piece that lasted less than a minute. At home, she played it beautifully. But on stage, when the teacher called her name, she froze. Completely frozen. She refused to play. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing worked.

Just when I was about to lose hope, a little boy around eight years old came over and sat beside her. He shared his secret:

That simple idea helped my daughter find her courage. Did she play that day? She did.

That moment taught me something important: sometimes, our eagerness to help can unintentionally put pressure on our children. For them, music — and anything they try — should start with fun and exploration, free of judgment.

I also realized how often we adults see challenges as terrifying monsters. But maybe, like that little boy said, if we imagine those challenges as silly Mr. Potato Heads instead, we can face them with confidence instead of fear.

Today, both of my daughters love music in their own way. They don’t feel the same pressure I once felt to make music a serious pursuit, and that’s okay. All my grandchildren play some kind of instrument, and for me, I finally fulfilled my childhood dream — I went back to study piano and now play just for the joy it brings.