Oh, I Used to Take Piano Lessons. . .

A piano we looked at. . . 

A Steinway is a Steinway. . . 

The price was right. . . but

. . . there were a few issues.  The soundboard and the studio steps. . . alas.  Not today. 

"Oh, I used to take piano lessons!  How much do you charge?"
This is the textbook response when I announce my occupation to a stranger.
As in--if the price were cheap enough and if it was convenient, they could earn redemption from their sins of quitting by forcing music upon the next generation, their own children.

I never have a adequate response for this.  What I want to say is something like, "I'm not the piano lessons store--what we're marketing here is a lifetime love of music and the building of your child's character."  But somehow it always comes out as an hourly rate.

One of the teachers in our group, Suzanne Greer has an article in a blog called  Studio Helper Blog.  She addresses this same topic, which has been on my mind for a long time.  I think about my teacher trainer Doris Harrel and my first conversation with her about the Suzuki Method.  Somehow there in the lobby of the UT music building Doris made it sound like the most beautiful awesome inspired teaching in the whole world and in the first meeting, I knew my life would never be the same.

I didn't ask her how much the training was.  It turned out to be very expensive and I was still in college.  I was poor.  She worked with me, which in turn has inspired me to work with anyone in my studio who has ever approached me about finances.

The thing is, I was already sold.  That training was the greatest investment of my life.

So, how to come up with an elevator talk?  The Suzuki Method in 30 seconds or less.  Yikes. My degree is in piano, not marketing. Usually when the phone rings with a new parent on the line I'm braiding Mary's hair and the cats are eating raw chicken on the kitchen counter and Calvin is practicing drum set in the basement. Blah. Can I call you back?  The bottom line is that we have to get prospective families into the studio. They have to see us in action. They have to see how comfortably and lovingly the children play.  My website has been very helpful too--families can read about the process and think about the commitment.

I'm still not good at expressing myself on the spot.  But I'm going to work on a stock response, maybe keep it on a 3x5 card in my purse and by the phone. . .

Every child can learn, but not every family is a great candidate for a Suzuki family.  For those that might choose to be, we want to share our enthusiasm and love. Their lives will never be the same.