Last night we went to Silas’s piano recital.

Everyone did their best. Several of them were pretty good. A couple of them were very good.

There was one kid though, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who played “Chopin something-or-another, Opus big-number, Number 1.”

Holy crap! When he got done we were all like — Woah!

After the recital, I took Silas with me and went to say how great it was. I asked, “How many hours a day do you practice?”

“Not much,” he said. “Maybe 45 minutes, three times a week.”

His mother was standing right there. “I used to be able to get him to practice more, but not so much these days,” she said.

I was shocked. How could he be so good? I had expected he’d say a couple hours a day every day.

Brooke said, “You listen to your mommy.”

“Well,” I said, “it was really very good. Thank you.”

On the way out I wondered out loud, “If he’s that good without too much practice, imagine what he’d be able to do if he did practice.”