When I was growing up, we had an upright piano. I’m not sure why, because no one really knew how to play. (I took lessons when I was eight for about a year, but I was never particularly proficient.)
And, for reasons I no longer remember, it was painted some beige/tan/eggshell color. Maybe it was to cover up the discoloration or marks in the wood.
One day, when I was five, the piano was marked up with crayons. My father asked my sister Leslie, who was four, who had done it, and she said that I did. So, I got spanked. I kept denying my guilt, which angered my father, and I got spanked some more. Now this wasn’t by hand, but with this leather strap I guess was used for sharping razors, or whatnot. Eventually, through these denials, my father decided that either 1) I was stupid or 2) I really DIDN’T mark up the piano. So, he went back to Leslie, asked her again, and she finally confessed. Then she got got it, not only for marking the piano but for lying. But I got the worst whupping of my life for something I did not do.
Happy birthday, Leslie. Believe me, I understood and I forgave you long ago.