Who was Miss Sandy Grafton?
A story about the impact of music teachers. And a personal tribute to the unsung hero who turned my sheet music for over 10 years.
Last year, my parents and I decided to set up the ole video cassette player, and pop in a home movie.
Suddenly, there I was on the screen. Eleven years old. Playing in a piano recital. And standing next to me, turning the sheet music right on cue, was Miss Sandy Grafton.
Wait…Miss Sandy Grafton?
Suddenly, I got a strange feeling. I still don’t have an exact word for it. But let me try to explain.
You know when you’re a kid, and you watch the same movie over and over again? Kind of in an obsessive way?
Then later, when you rewatch the movie as an adult, there’s suddenly a whole different plot and all these layers that you never got before? And you gain a whole new appreciation of it?
That feeling came over me when I saw Miss Sandy Grafton on screen.
My mind started glitching, trying to form adult ideas about this lady who was so present throughout my childhood and adolescence, but who I ultimately have no clue about on a personal level.
Who was Miss Sandy Grafton?!
The Steadfast Piano Teacher
Honestly, very little comes to mind outside of her appearance.
In my kid mind, I thought she looked a bit like a crow. Her hair was thin and short, I mean, you could see straight through to her scalp. She regularly dyed it black, which seemed unnatural. An odd bird.
She’d always wear these baggy button-down shirts with manic floral designs. Grey slacks. And those hose-like socks that older ladies tend to wear. She’d always take off her boxy, pleather, grandma shoes before stepping onto our living room carpet
.I’ll never forget her musky perfume and how it stung my nostrils. Hours later, coming home from work, my dad would always say, “Well Miss Sandy Grafton must’ve been here today, that damn perfume makes my eyes water!”
Now that I think about it, I do remember her energy. Believe it or not, Miss Grafton showed up every week at my house in the same state of stale chipperness.
She’d pull her old sedan in front of our house — our dogs announcing her arrival — but it’d take about 5 minutes for her to get to the door. Normally in those moments, I’d anxiously squeeze in every last minute of practice.
But now, I have to wonder, what she was doing inside that car?
Perhaps practicing her smile in the mirror, all the way up to crinkle her eyes. Forcing herself into the consistent and cheerful piano teacher character that she played...
Or maybe she was dreading the lesson too, as she heard my errors ringing from inside the house, already judging that I hadn’t practiced.
Eventually, she’d trample through the grass to our front door and greet me with a huge grin and shoulder squeeze, “Hey kiddo!”
Even when I was lazy and didn’t practice, she gritted her teeth and remained a dedicated teacher. God, I must have been irritating.
At the end of each lesson, my mom would place an $18 check lightly on the piano. $18 must have felt like crap somedays.
Still, to my dismay, Miss Sandy Grafton never missed a lesson.
Mastering Moonlight Sonata: The Final Challenge
After nearly 10 years of music education from age 8 to 18, it was time for my final recital. Soon, I’d be leaving home to attend university. Miss Grafton urged me to take on Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (the 1st movement).
When I first sat in front of that sheet music, it saw a stressed out teenager who gaped at its sharps, flats, chords, and crescendos.
But I extended a metaphorical handshake, and an unspoken part of me said, “You’re on.” Then it extended its talons into my brain and wore me down measure by measure. But I clawed back, with long fingers expanding octaves.
I practiced that damn piece day after day until my whole family heard the opening notes and groaned. But I didn’t play that song, it played me.
And Miss Grafton would coach me in the battle from time to time, squeezing my shoulder with a look of pleasant surprise on her face. That song, that cursed song, turned from my enemy into the song that still naturally comes out when I sit down at any piano to this day.
When I finally performed it at my final recital, I went up there and poured so much emotion into it. My grand finale, my big bye-bye to years of being “forced” to practice against my will.
Miss Grafton stood next to me on stage and turned the sheet music page right when the moment arrived. She was always so serious when she did that. As if we weren’t performing to parents in a small Christian church, but headlining a world-class concert hall.
No, this was her pride and joy, turning that page, evoking reverence from the parents in the crowd. A radiant crow puffing her chest feathers. Miss Grafton would give me a shoulder squeeze and clap ferociously after each of my performances – good and bad.
But this one was actually my best, and she clapped like a bird taking flight.
The Last Piano Lesson
The last time I saw Miss Sandy Grafton, we exchanged no endearing words that I recall. I do remember she told me a handful of her other students had requested learning Moonlight Sonata on piano. Which made me feel proud. Maybe we hugged, I’m not sure. I can’t remember. And we lost touch.
The Lasting Impact of a Music Teacher
I’m 30 years old now. I can tell you that I did not go on to become a classical pianist. In fact, I took a long break from music and I wondered what it was all for. Then the pandemic hit and I was called back into it — this time, of my own volition.
I recently heard that Miss Grafton passed away.
I don’t even know what illness took her. It saddens me how much I was in the dark about her own life. But wherever she is, I hope she knows how thankful I am now.
Being forced to learn an instrument sucks. Microwave timers were set at one hour to practice, as I cursed through the mistakes, repeating the same measure over and over and over and over. Until the notes become etched on my brain like braille. And then, only then, I could put my heart into it. And for an instant, the piano wouldn’t suck so bad. In fact, it felt like medicine.
Ding-ding-ding! I blink, as the microwave timer brings me back into the real world.
“Syd! The timer’s gone off.”
“Ok, Mom!”
On occasion, I’d find myself sitting back down on the piano bench, and I’d keep playing.
Brain to fingertips, vibrations to eardrums, auditory nerves to the brain.
A loop of magic.
And Miss Sandy Grafton, the master in disguise, made me into a magician.
Sometimes the unlikeliest of people change our lives in immeasurable ways.
Sometimes you watch a home video and recognize the gift of not only having been clothed and fed, but to have had your spirit nurtured.
Now as an adult, I use this gift with reverence.
Rest in Peace Miss Grafton. Thank you for everything. I only wish I could have told you sooner.
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Who are the unlikely people who have impacted your life? I’d love to hear your stories in the Comments below.
What a nice story Syd! And really well narrated :D
I would love to know what you think about your own influence and inspiration to others