When I was about eight years old, my folks, like most of the Asian parents in this area, wanted me to play the piano and bought me a brand-new Yamaha.
I remember that my piano teacher was Mrs. Zhao. She graduated from the Central Conservatory of Music and received a Master's from Austin School of Music at the University of Texas. She was very strict to the students, sometimes playing the piano alongside them to teach more efficiently. Many of her middle-school students won awards at various competitions.
Every week Mom would drive me to Mrs. Zhao's. In the beginning our lessons were half an hour, but we extended them to 45 minutes. I learned to read a music score pretty quickly, and Mrs. Zhao complimented me.
Practicing piano was no easy task for me; as my skill level increased, so did the pieces. I often wondered if I was wasting time, angry that I could not perfect my playing the first time. What feud did these composers have with me? No matter my anxieties, I still had to play in front of Mrs. Zhao. If I did it well, she'd draw a star on the score; if I played perfect, I'd get a red star and could move onto the next piece. Sometimes I'd memorize it to receive a yellow star. The time for a competition came; I competed three times. Mom had already dressed me nicely in a suit and tie; Dad drove us to the University of Texas early. There were lots of people hanging out already, lots of dark-haired people like me. As I still had some time, I went into a practice room. I was very nervous, and, when the time came,played for a judge in the designated room, hoping I did well. After playing my two pieces I thanked the judge and left. A few days later Mrs. Zhao told me that I had done fine and gave me an award.
My parents were extremely pleased with my achievements. Later they would sit on the couch and listen to me play. Dad especially liked “For Elise, ” and Mom liked “Jingle Bells, ” the Christmas song. Sometimes I would compose my own songs, and,despite their simplicity, Mom and Dad still liked them.
Later in middle school we were required to take a fine arts class, and I chose band, learning to play the flute. Dad made fun of me for it: “The flute is the easiest to play; all you do is blow in the hole. It's light to carry around; what could be simpler? ” As I played more the flute in middle school, piano was pushed off onto the side. Not long ago the internationally famous Chinese piano player Lang Lang came to play perform a concert in Austin. I was captivated by his playing and afterwards immediately sought to get his autograph and picture, rather envious of his enormous skill.
Comments：This passage could be put into three paragraphs,at most, to convey the message that the author intended. A shorter story would more likely keep the reader's interest.