The evening light filtered softly through the curtains as I finished folding laundry. My nine-year-old son, Maxim, burst into the room with his usual energy. But this time, there was something different in his eyes—a hesitation I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Mom,” he began, standing in the doorway. “I don’t want to go to piano lessons anymore. I’d rather play games.”
I froze for a moment, holding a shirt in my hands. Maxim had been taking piano lessons for a year and a half, and his progress was remarkable. His fingers moved across the keys with a grace that was impressive for his age. I knew he had talent. But more than that, I had seen the joy in his eyes while playing—or at least, I thought I had.
I knelt down to meet his gaze and spoke softly. “Maxim, imagine this.” I spread my arms wide. “This is my love for you. Whether you play piano or not, no matter what you choose to do, my love for you will never change. It’s as big as the sky.”
His eyes softened, but the hesitation remained. “What I want,” I continued, “is for you to do something you truly love. Not because I love it or because someone else thinks you should. So here’s what I want you to do. Take some time. Sit quietly, close your eyes, and ask your heart what it really wants.”
He looked at me, puzzled. “Ask my heart?”
“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Your heart is very wise. But it doesn’t shout or rush. It speaks quietly, and sometimes you need to be very patient to hear it.”
Maxim nodded, a seriousness in his expression I rarely saw. He headed to his room, leaving me with my thoughts and a pile of folded clothes. I sat on the edge of the couch, wondering if I had given him too much responsibility for such an important decision. But then I realized—wasn’t this exactly what I wanted for him? To learn, even at this young age, how to listen to himself and find his own path? The values I wanted to instill in him weren’t tied to piano or success in any specific thing. They were about living authentically, guided by his inner compass.
An hour later, Maxim returned. His face was serious, but there was a new light in his eyes.
“Mom,” he said, climbing onto the couch beside me. “It’s really hard to talk to your heart.”
I smiled. “I know. It takes practice.”
“But I did it,” he continued. “And my heart told me I should keep playing the piano.”
A wave of pride washed over me—not because he chose to continue with piano, but because he made the effort to listen to himself. “I’m so proud of you, Maxim,” I said, hugging him. “Not for your decision, but for taking the time to make it with your heart.”
That moment stayed with me long after Maxim fell asleep. I realized how important it is to teach him not what to value, but how to discover his own values. By encouraging him to slow down, sit with his thoughts and feelings, I’m helping him build a foundation for decisions he’ll make when he no longer needs my guidance.
Nurturing a child’s connection to their heart isn’t easy. It takes patience and sometimes means letting go of the outcomes we secretly wish for. But I believe it’s one of the greatest gifts we can give our children—a compass they’ll carry for life. Maxim won’t always choose piano, and that’s okay. My hope is that he’ll always choose what feels true to him. And that he’ll know how to listen, even when the answer is hard to find.
And maybe, just maybe, he’ll remember that his mother’s love was as big as the sky, no matter what.
With love,
Val
