I woke that 1）fateful day immersed in anxiety and misery. How would I survive what lay ahead？ It was 1959， my junior year in college， and I was studying to become a teacher.

I loved it， thrived in the preparations I was making to become a professional educator.

Classes in English， Psychology， Reading Methods and more gave me no problems. What loomed ahead this awful day， however， made me shiver with fear.

No way out. I had to face the music， I told myself， as I dragged my reluctant body from the warm cocoon of blankets. Face the music？ That was exactly what I had to do this morning. My churning stomach meant breakfast would be skipped today. Each tick of the clock brought me closer to disaster.

I donned coat and gloves， wrapped a scarf around my neck and set out on legs that felt heavier with each step. For once， I didn’t 2）relish the walk across campus.Face the music？ I shuddered as that simple phrase skipped through my mind once again. I journeyed slowly to the final exam in my Music for the Elementary School class…an exam with no paper and pencil. I might have done all right with a test like that. Instead， the professor would select any three songs of nine we were to learn. The pieces were not 3）concertos or 4）etudes. These were little children’s songs， like “Mary Had A Little Lamb”.

The professor explained， in the first week of class， that we had to learn three groups of songs in three different keys. To be sure， we had all semester to do this， plenty of time to master them， he assured us. Music Department pianos were available for practice.

“Piece of cake，” the girl next to me said.

“Easy enough，” another 5）chirped as I glared at her.

“6）Cinch class，” yet another said rolling her eyes to Heaven.

I kept my silence， but the worry started right then and there. I had many talents， but music was not one of them. I liked to listen to it. I was able to appreciate it， but I could not learn to tap a triangle at the right time in third grade. I could not sing on key. I could not read the musical notes on a 7）staff. No musical aptitude whatsoever.

I signed up for practice times several days a week all semester. Anyone nearby must have 8）winced at my efforts. Lovely songs tripped off the fingers of other practicing pianists， and the music floated through the hallway.

I asked my roommate for help. After several sessions， she told me it was a hopeless cause and suggested I cry on the professor’s shoulder， plead for mercy or something more 9）drastic. What the more drastic approach might be I feared to ask.

I did talk to the professor， poured out my tale of woe. I explained that I was“Musically Handicapped.”

“Have you put some effort into this？”he asked me. “Really put some work into learning to play these little songs on the piano？”

With tears threatening， I assured him I had. His answer was that I would do fine when the time came， and he strode out of the classroom after patting me on the shoulder.

Now， the day of my demise had arrived. I could not have feared 10）execution any more than I did this music exam.

The professor greeted me with a smile， rubbed his hands together and said， “Well now， are we ready？”

I sank onto the bench and attempted to play the three songs he selected. He kindly picked what were probably the three easiest pieces， and I managed to butcher each one.

At the end of my 11）futile performance， the professor beckoned me to his desk. He looked at me， started to speak， then stopped and wiped his hand across his forehead.“Nancy， this is what we are going to do. You’ve put forth a great deal of effort， so I will give you a C in this class on one condition. ”

“Anything，” I answered.

“You must promise me that you will only teach in a school that also employs a music teacher！” He grinned at me after making the statement.

With vast relief I made the promise.

I taught in more than one school district， but I always made sure it was one that had a music teacher. I watched with great admiration as music class was conducted， as songs were played on the piano the teacher rolled from classroom to classroom twice each week. What a genius she is I thought， as her fingers flew across the keys.

To this day， the only musical thing I play is a CD player or radio. After all， a promise is meant to be honored.

我在充滿焦慮和苦痛的情緒中醒來，那是改變我命運的一天。我要怎樣熬過眼前的這一關？那是1959年，我還在讀大學三年級，為成為一名教師而刻苦攻讀。

我喜歡教書，努力準備著要成為一名專業(yè)的教育工作者。

英語、心理學、閱讀方法以及其他的課程對我都不成問題。在這糟糕的一天，我即將面對的事情，卻讓我害怕得渾身顫抖。

無路可走了。當我不情愿地把身體從暖和的毛毯中拖出時，我對自己說我必須面對現(xiàn)實。直面現(xiàn)實？那正是今天早上我不得不做的事情。我的胃部在劇烈地翻騰著，那意味著今天我吃不下早餐了。時鐘跳動的每一秒都把我往災難推近一步。

我穿上大衣，戴上手套，在脖子上裹了一條圍巾，踏著越來越沉重的步伐出發(fā)了。僅此一次，我并不享受在校園里漫步。直面現(xiàn)實？那簡單幾字再次跳進我腦海時，我不禁哆嗦了一下。我邁著沉重的步伐走向最后一門考試——小學音樂課……這是一門不需要紙和筆的考試。也許要做題的考試我還能考得好一些。在這門考試里，教授會從我們需要學習的九首曲目中任意挑選三首。這些曲目既不是協(xié)奏曲，也不是練習曲。這些都是兒歌，比如《瑪麗有只小羊羔》。

課程的第一周，教授解釋說我們需要學習三組不同音調(diào)的三種曲目。可以肯定的是，我們有一個學期的學習時間，有很多時間去掌握，他向我們保證道。音樂系的鋼琴可以給我們用來練習。

“小菜一碟，”我身旁的女孩說。

“挺容易的，”我盯著另一個女孩時，她尖聲地說。

“小兒科，”另一個女孩邊說邊轉動眼睛望向天空。

我緘默不語，彼時彼地我憂心萌發(fā)。我有很多天賦，可音樂并非其中之一。我喜歡聽音樂。我也懂得欣賞音樂，可是到我讀三年級時我還學不會跟著節(jié)奏敲三角環(huán)。我唱歌總跑調(diào)。我不會看五線譜上的音符。毫無音樂天資可言。

那一個學期，我每周都報名參加幾次練習課。周圍的人看見了我的努力想必都敬畏有加。美妙的曲子從來練習的其他鋼琴好手指間躍然而出，音樂在走廊里飄揚。

我向舍友尋求幫助。幾次練習之后，她說我這是在做無用功，建議我向教授哭訴，請求他大發(fā)慈悲或提出其他更激烈的訴求。我都不敢問舍友她所謂的“更激烈的訴求”是什么。

我確實有跟教授談過，傾訴我的悲慘故事。我解釋自己有“音樂殘障”。

“你有為此而努力過嗎？”他問我。“你真的花過心思去學習用鋼琴彈奏這些小曲目嗎？”

我噙著眼淚，向他保證我真的有刻苦練習。他的回答是，到時就會好的，他拍了拍我的肩膀然后走出了課室。

現(xiàn)在，我的末日到了。面對這次音樂考核，我的恐懼感就跟要面對被處決那般嚴重。

教授向我微笑，摩挲著雙手，對我說：“好了，我們都準備好了嗎？”

我沉沉地坐到凳子上，試圖彈奏出他為我挑選的三首曲子。他好意挑選了三首也許是最簡單的歌，而我則每首都彈得體無完膚。

在我即將完成這徒勞的表演時，教授喚我走向他的辦公桌。他看著我，欲言又止，然后用手抹了抹額頭?！澳舷?，我們這樣吧，你付出了很大的努力，因此這一科我會給你 ‘合格’，但你需要答應我一件事。”

“任何事都可以，”我回答說。

“你必須向我承諾，你將來只會在一所雇了音樂老師的學校里教書！”說完之后，他咧著嘴對我笑起來。

我如釋重負，許下諾言。

我在不止一個學區(qū)里教過書，但是我總會確保那所學校聘請了音樂老師。我?guī)е绺叩木匆饪粗魳氛n的教學，看著老師用鋼琴彈奏著曲子，一周兩次地從這間教室走到另一間教室去上課。當她的手指在琴鍵上游動時，我想，她真是一個天才。

直到今天，我能操作的唯一樂器是光盤播放機或者收音機。畢竟，許下的承諾是該得到尊重的。