Up Where We Belong

I was always fascinated by the piano. When I was a little guy growing up in church (I'm talking 3 and 4 years old), my pastor's wife was the church organist, and I idolized her. After every service, I would sneak up to the organ bench and sit beside her while she played, watching her fingers dance across the keys, studying her foot as she tapped out the bass line with it. And when I was 12, we had this little old lady who banged out ragtime-style gospel on an old baby grand piano, and I loved the way she played. That's when I started picking out songs by hear on the piano.

So at the age of 13, my parents signed me up for piano lessons. I think they might have wondered what I did with the money...two years of lessons produced very little results. I could play Heart and Soul (can't everybody?) and an incomplete version of Chopsticks. I could play most of Fur Elise pretty good, except for the part that is really fast and really cool. I wanted to learn Beethoven's 5th Symphony and The Entertainer. I hardly ever practiced, except for about 15 minutes right before my lesson. I was supposed to be learning church music, but I came through those two years able to play the Battle Hymn of the Republic and What a Friend We Have in Jesus. And then the typical life of the American teenager took over and I didn't take any more lessons.

For Eighth Grade graduation, the powers that be (I still don't know who made some of those decisions) selected Up Where We Belong for our processional song. As an aspiring, but lazy, pianist, I fell in love with the music and asked the lady who played it about getting a copy; I don't think I ever did. And that was nearly a quarter of a century ago.

Over the next couple of years, I picked out a few songs by ear--Amazing Grace, How Great Thou Art, The Rose, to name a few. I did get to play a couple of times for church services, which was really all I wanted to do with my piano playing capabilities. Then at eighteen, I became the church pianist. I could play pretty good in one key--F--and I could sight read, badly. My grandmother, a pianist and organist, taught me a few things. A couple of others pitched in their ideas. And with Dad leading in his so-called Key of G-Whiz, I slowly learned what lessons didn't seem to teach me. I learned how to play the piano.

I remember those years of banging out notes and chords in a choppy, staccato style that drove my parents bonkers. Mom would quote one of our favorite family films and accuse me of playing the piano with all the sensitivity of a road mender. But I struggled along. I played piano and organ in five different churches, picking up a little more stuff to throw in each time. At Bible College, a couple of professors gave me some helpful hints. And then something recognizable changed my music altogether. Suddenly it clicked and I never had real problems playing anything ever again. If I heard it, I could usually sit down, pick out the melody and fake the rest.

But to this day I have never played Up Where We Belong. It's a great song, the triumphant theme from an early '80s cinematic presentation starring the very young Richard Gere and Deborah Winger. I don't know if the movie was considered any good, although I've seen it a few times. The other night I saw it completely through for the first time in many many years, and suddenly realized that this is where the song came from. And it's been on my mind. But I still haven't sat down yet to play it.

Perhaps I never will.