Your mother is a hard woman who has no time for religion, not since she learned about the priest who refused to convert her Lutheran mother, who was pregnant, to Catholicism before she married her husband in the church. The priest told your grandfather that your grandmother was a whore and that her baby would be a bastard.
Your mother was poor, but she knew that education was important, and she knew what a comfort music could be, and she made your brothers take piano lessons, so she made you take them, too. Your right hand didn't work? Big deal, her brother had a boy with Down's syndrome, and when he was over, your mother gave him a saw and told him to go outside and get some wood for the fireplace.
If your cousin with Down's syndrome could saw wood, you could learn to play the piano. Your mother explained the situation to your brothers' music teacher, told her what she wanted. What she needed. And your brothers' music teacher found a composer—a veteran of the Crimean War who'd had his right hand blown off. He had composed music for the left hand only. You learned how to play the piano left-handed.
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