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Weekly Contest #7
On a hot, sticky August afternoon in 1946, the heat from the sidewalk burned through my sandals as I walked the long blocks to my piano lesson. My satchel, loaded with practice books, sheet music and a one dollar fifty cent lesson fee, thumped against my bare leg. Sweat covered my skinny, nine-year-old body. Each week I dragged myself the ten blocks from our home in Highland Park to Oak Street, where I played scales and learned simplified classical music pieces from Miss Ruth Graves. I didn’t look forward to these lessons, and today I w...
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